#i was in a great mood & now i want to cry <3 excellent. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

consistent-self-destruction · 2 years

Text

Growing is so so so stupid hard.

I'm happy, then I'm not.

I know myself, and then.. I don't?

I don't know I just felt like writing I guess. Godbless my silly little girlblog. Although, this is more like - if a girlblog was a wretched beast, which is like one of my alternate personas I think (going back to the great debate of if I even know myself).

I'm 18 now by the way! I had drafted a post venting about how my birthday was shitty until my emotions about it all got too complex to even comprehend, much less type out - so I abandoned it.

Anyways currently I am brain scramble. A manic mix of emotions and influences and thoughts just colliding at each other in agonizingly slow inevitable crashes. I guess you could say my own human complexity is on the brain.

I'm thinking about how I listen to Saweetie and feel like a girlbloss who needs to delete tinder, ghost bitches, and enter my selfish and successful era. I like to be in that mindset when it comes. It feels motivating and in my best interest. It feels like a positive shift from the obviously negative connotation to losing myself to distracting people places and everything else that's unimportant.

But then I listen to Billie Eilish and lean into my sadness because it feels like a friend holding me close and rubbing my back.

I'll listen to Melanie Martinez and suddenly I want to hyperfeminize myself and be absolutely insane!? And it's a mood, it's a vibe like sometimes it is so much fun to just let go of everything and let yourself act in a character of craziness. Smudge your makeup and yell at your mirror and be dramatic! Call yourself hot and then cry about how untrue it feels in the same second! It's a fun release of energy in a way?

And these are all radically different moods from one another, but they all feel real to me - and I guess that's just because they reflect different shades of the human range of emotion. It's everything humans just.. feel. It's normal to feel these things and the only thing that makes it feel weird is the aesthetics surrounding the emotions I suppose.

But anyways, the thing itching my mind isn't exactly that I feel these things - but more about when I lean into them, and how much. What does it mean for me as a person in terms of how it affects my growth, wellbeing, and excellment? What does it mean to my identity? There's a lot to it and I don't know if I have the brainpower to think and write about it all - unfolding it with every typed word. But, let's see.

First of all: in regards to growth, wellbeing, and excellment (I've googled this word and can't tell if I made it up.. anyway;)

I think I have a few "moods" or "eras" that I fall into while moving in life. First, there's the fresh slate era: A time of promise and hope for productivity and coming success. My expectations are high and for once, so is my motivation. I'm probably listening to a lot of positive music like classical instrumentation, songs that remind me of childhood like steven universe, anything upbeat, and afrobeats that make me want whine my hips and dive in waterfalls. I'm waking up early, having breakfast and consistent meals, and engaging in productive habits. I feel good :)

Then, there's the absolutely-falling-apart-but-not-at-rock-bottom-yet era. This is absolute mania lol. I am losing my mind. I wake up when I can and either sleep for 15 hours straight or run my days on not a blink of sleep and only one powerful pop-your-pussy 3 hour hyperpop playlist. I'm eating whenever I feel like (three goldfish to be exact, 5 packs of fruit snacks, and whatever else I salvage that is not a real meal). I have a hard time maintaining hygiene habits and my room is an absolute warzone. I have no motivation to clean or be clean (things that require energy - be honest.) and I spent hours upon hours unhealthily online feeling like a racoon living in a dumpster. My confidence manically falters between "you are the cutest thing ever, someone should kiss you" to "you are a disgusting fucking rat why would anyone even touch you." I feel like this literally just depending on my appearance. If I haven't had the energy to take care of my appearance and DO look bad, then yeah - I feel bad but like. To the extreme. And if I manically get the urge to get all cute and dressed up LITERALLY JUST to FEEL SOMETHING (pls.) then ofc I feel good, but again - to the extreme. Like I'll be dancing and grinning in the mirror and being an absolute weirdo ditz, nevermind that my entire life is falling apart around me as my only focus in that moment is get cute feel fun embrace mess and chaos. I am running away from all my responsibilities and consciously burying myself in distractions and digging my grave because I feel energetically incapable of facing my own reality. This is an entire part of me that I feel way too often. It obviously doesn't feel good - but it's easy to romanticize with so much media context that promotes the concept of "crazy girls" and the whole "psycho but pretty" thing. In a way, I think it just feels like a character for me sometimes. Except the problem is that I'm allowing myself to play a character, that should be fake, but is literally destroying my reality. The problem is that when my life starts to fall apart, I only run from it more by putting on this character that feeds off chaos and it's self destructive. I'm aware of that, but I'm having too much fun escaping reality with a romanticized chaotically free version of myself to care. How the hell does freedom feel exactly like decay?

And lastly, there's the era that runs somewhere between reflective and rotten. It usually is after the era of mania. I'm burnt out and at my lowest point. I don't even have the energy to be manic anymore. I'm still not taking care of myself but now it's truly worse because without the mania, there is no hyper-energy to even try. I'm always in bed. Always. Everything is a mess, I'm a mess, and my reality is a mess. I can do nothing but think myself into spirals or (and this is the rotten side) not think at all. Only lay and dream and further escape reality. I have finally decayed into my most rotted form. I can only reflect. I'm usually listening to a lot of r&b during this time because it's my one true love and always always always comforts me. However I do have some periods where I will exclusively listen to sad indie or softened indie rock (still sad). This is a very somber, still, and almost dead feeling for me. I lean into the sadness again, because it feels strangely comforting and necessary in a way. Sometimes I feel like I need to lean into my sadness because it's all I have. I have to feel it because it's there and otherwise won't go away. I have to love it into leaving me.

Anyways, those are all the major character arcs I experience as I go through life. And while only one of the is very obviously good, and much better for my wellbeing, I still can't help but feel attached to the other two? In that - again, they are sentiments that are so easy to romanticize, to the point where going into those mindsets feels like a weird part of my identity? Like yes! I can be crazy and manic sometimes and other times I can feel retrospective in the reflection of my own darkness. And it all feels so real and so me, just in the fact that I experience it. But is it really me? Am I actually insane or do I just feel insane? Am I really a loner or do I just feel alone? If I refuse to indulge in the last two "eras" of myself, am I denying parts of my identity - even if they're bad parts? Is it better to only live to embrace the best part of yourself to prioritize your wellbeing, or is it better to embrace the good parts of you as WELL as the bad? Is embracing the good and bad counterproductive if it is draining in nature to coexist in contrasts?

I don't know man. Anyways onto the point of where this stands for my identity, there are sort of two parts to this: the things I experience, vs my spheres of influence.

Everyone really experiences the same range of human emotions. But with the rise of media consumerism, the way that we view or perceive various emotions are heavily influenced by the media-made aesthetics they align with. Which is why when I feel certain emotions, I listen to certain artists that feel aesthetically aligned to that emotion - or think of certain characters, films, colors, products, objects, etc. And the problem with this is that in addition to aestheticized emotions, it has become a trend for people's identities to be built on the basis of content and products they enjoy consuming. For example - the type of artists and music you listen to, is considered a part of your identity and who you are. But at least, my personal issue with this is that I listen to different types of music depending on my mood. Hyperpop and bimbocore for the mania, classical pianos and violin for when my mind actually decided to be healthy, r&b all the time - and sometimes I'll have very specific niche days where I'm just in the mood for specific artists. There are Melanie Martinez days, Blackbear days, Billie Eilish days, Selena (Quintanilla tf.) days, etc. etc. And the "aesthetics" surrounding these artists all feel central to my identity because they align with emotions I experience in real life (or in the case of Selena at least - I grew up listening to her because my mom is Belizean lmao). I am someone who likes all things pink and girly and lace and hyperfeminine! I enjoy the visual aesthetics of all things vintage and childhood that Melanie Martinez draws out - and while I don't have much of the actual things in that aesthetic in my life, the fact that I *would* and would like to, makes it feel like me. Same thing with Blackbear - who often references the party girls he meets who are wild and free and just don't give a shit about anything. Again, so real so me. I spent my first semester of college going to parties literally every weekend and the freedom of unhinged femininity is exhilarating. I love it, feels so real so me. And then there's silly little billie with all her depressing ass songs bye. Again, so real so me. And that's only a few artists! There are so many others who draw out very specific emotions from me and it feels so real that I can't tell if it's actually me or not - especially if they touch on things I haven't done yet or don't have but would LIKE to do and have.

I guess all this goes to say that the life of a fangirl is so incredibly hard. I am a walking mosaic of everything that has every influenced me. My parents, my mom's culture and it's music, endless and endless musical artists, and my own media consumerism of aestheticized content. With my life being a composition of so much influence, it's hard to tell if all of that combined is who I am, or if it's all a DISTRACTION to figuring out who I am. It's confusing because your influences are what raise your identity. It's your parents and everything around you that helps you find out who you are. But when you resonate with everything and everyone, can you really figure it out with all the noise? And this is especially frustrating when I think about myself as a creative! I like to paint, draw, make crafts, play with fashion, and a lot more - but the easiest way to describe this is with songwriting. I recently hit a wall with songwriting in that, during my junior year of highschool, I was doing NOTHING but churning out SONG after SONG after SONG. It was a wildly expressive time and even tho the emotions were dark at the time (reflecting an rotting era), it felt so relieving to be able to healthily release it all and do it so easily. Most of the songs I wrote during that time fell somewhere in the sound of soft indie angst / soft sad indie rock, etc. It was reflective of the music I was listening to at the time, but writing in that style also felt insanely natural? And came to me easily. But then I sort of exhausted myself, writing in that same style and I yearned to write in the style of other genres I enjoy. I wanted to write an r&b song REALLY badly cause it's my first love. I wanted to write indie jazz like Raveena or a cute steven-universe-like diddy. I tried my hand at them, and it didn't flow as naturally as the indie-esque songs, but I got a few out. Then I just stopped writing for a while because I'd exhausted my creativity and felt uninspired. When I finally did have urges to pick my guitar back up, I'd still feel uninspired and it got frustrating. I'd have the urge to write and know what I want to write about, but I wanted to make it sound like a Summer Walker song, and nothing I was doing was working. It was insanely frustrating. Then I stopped trying to write like Summer Walker and just tried to write at all. But none of the chords sounded right. I couldn't find a sound I was satisfied with - it either felt wrong or too similar to my other works. I started to feel like I was running in circles, doomed to make music that all sounds the same because I've exhausted my range of possibilities with chords OR just constantly chasing sounds I enjoy, trying to recreate them without success. It made me realize that I don't know what my sound is. I don't knowif my sound is naturally indie-ish or if that's just a product of listening to it often and finding it most expressive. And I'm struggling to branch beyond that sound because I don't know enough chord possibilities and I don't play any other instruments. So that's just an example of what I mean when I say that the issue of influencers in finding identity is even more disruptive to creativity. I don't know what my authentic creative style is because I'm struggling through trying on OTHER people's creative styles that connect with me. Again, the same applies with my general identity - in terms of style and characteristics, and more. I thought I knew who I was but now I realize that I'm way more confused than I thought. I can engage in so many different shades of life because I like to explore and enjoy every space. But when you wear different styles everyday and range between wild party girl to all things sunshine and peace caribbean hippie - how do people even describe you? If you took away my interests and influences, who would I be? All I know is what I like (a lot of things) and what I don't like (also a lot of things but not as much). I guess that's enough for now. Knowing your identity 100% is hard work, but it's enough to at least know what you like and don't like.

- 1.6.23 | 6:51 AM -

0 notes

filthforfriends · 2 years

Text

Guardian Angel: Chapter 3

Omegaverse: Damiano x fem reader

Word count: 9.8k

Damiano’s version of talking was texting you that he was busy today. You thought of four excellent, searing replies, but ended up sending nothing. Avoiding you was the most rational thing to do. Hell, you would avoid yourself today, sequestered at home with your mother taking a day off to watch you. On your way to explain how unnecessary this was, vertigo had you head over ass, falling down the stairs. The bruising to your tailbone felt semi-permanent and you wanted to scream like a toddler out of frustration.

So you ended up bed ridden, getting ahead in school to feel useful. You tried reading recreationally for the first time since fourth grade. Turns out the ability to chew through 400 page novels was a stage not a character trait. Your breasts still ached and the hot flashes were aggravatingly persistent. After a few bouts of crying and way too much TV, you went to bed early, feeling woozy and unstable.

The following day was spent much the same. You conquered the shower, tried to make yourself a meal and was interrupted by tachycardia. Mx.Frankie had sent you a note and Dr.Rowan and medical report. It contained the language “agitation” and “suspected mood swings” which would have made you seethingly angry if it didn’t make you laugh. Thalia’s academy for the gifted got out early so she came to your room. Her footfalls were nearly silent, her nervous energy barely quelled.

“You want to ask me something don’t you?” In terms of social skills, Thalia was definitely the youngest, or maybe just the least capable. She nodded and stepped into your room, and onto the carpet. Immediately she started tapping her finger tips together in repetitive rhythms.

“So now that you’re on suppressants, does he get to be your boyfriend?” She analyzes her painting, which hangs on the opposite wall as decoration, with critical eyes.

“Hypothetically, I guess.”

“Because dad’s statement is null if you have an HSIUD.”

“Right. We’ll see how that goes over,” you shrug, turning to follow her gaze, now landing on the window.

“What’s it like?”

“Tally, you have a boyfriend,” you emphasize.

“Fighting with dad. What’s that like?”

“It’s not…great, but it feels necessary. I know you hate it.”

“Just the yelling, but you’re kind of doing me a favor. Anything I ask for the next day seems perfectly reasonable.”

“Huh,” you chuckle, and she joins in awkwardly, followed by a lengthy silence. Thalia finally meets your eyes, and you know that she’s found her way to the point.

“So Oliver got into this volcanic international study program and I was thinking that maybe –”

“So you’ll be on the same work study trip as your boyfriend away from this god forsaken place, yes.”“The topography here is extremely boring, as you know.” You did, she’d complained at length. “And so –”

“Y/n, Damiano’s here,” your mother calls from downstairs. Thalia keeps talking, but your brain ceases to function as soon as you can smell his pheromones. You nod along, agreeing to what is very likely a reasonable request, given who it’s coming from.

“So you’ll let me know a couple days prior to upsetting dad?”

“For sure, Tally,” you say, before passing her on your way out of the room. Clio would be insulted if you brushed her off, but Thalia was harder to offend. You stop at the top of the stairs, having learned your lesson the hard way yesterday. Wool socks, shorts (not of the sexy pajama variety), and your oversized t-shirt was not the way you wanted to present yourself, but he had given you no warning.

Your mother and Damiano rounded the corner. Fuck, he looks good. It wasn’t even the outfit, which was the simplest you’d seen. He was glowing somehow, maybe a tan. Plus a couple silver necklaces that brought attention to his shirt, first four buttons undone. Might as well just take it off, and wouldn’t that be a splendid turn of events.

“So you’re not gonna come down here and greet me,” he teases, radiating confidence to compensate for any animosity on your end.

“I, um,” you swallow hard, getting an iron grip on the hand rail. After a tentative first step, you consider taking off your socks to prevent slipping.

“Y/n!” your mother warns, then turns to Damiano. “She fell yesterday. Down the stairs, she got dizzy and –”

“Oh, jesus fucking christ don’t!” He holds his hands out as if to catch you, 11 steps later. Relishing the dissipation of his cockiness, you decide to tease him a bit further.

“Oh no, you’re right! I wouldn’t want to be rude.” You take another step, focusing on correctly judging the distance. The mix of terror and dismay on Damiano’s face is positivly hilarious.

“No, no, no it’s fine! You don’t have to – I mean, I was just –”

“If my alpha commands it then I must persevere.” Damiano realizes you're joking and rolls his eyes. Unfortunately, a bout of dizziness does wash over you, and in an effort not to wobble you squeeze your eyes closed and hang off the rail by both hands. Your mother inhales sharply, and the floorboards creak as Damiano bounds up the stairs. He holds you steady against him, standing one stair below so he’ll be able to stop your fall. The vetigo passes quickly and, after a couple seconds you feel normal, looking up to find Damiano’s face perfectly level with yours. He recitfies the situation, before sexual tension can even form, stepping up.

“By the time you’re 16 I’m going to be fucking 30 after everything you’ve put me through.” You snicker and he's already smiling, looking away so he doesn’t end up laughing despite himself. “I swear to fucking god, y/n the walking hazard.”

“Damiano, the massive slut.” He turns towards you in absolute shock, mouth agape. He displays theatrical offense which might be at least some parts authentic. Dami’s dramatic reaction has you laughing even harder. “In front of your mother?!” he whisper-yells.

“You’ve sworn five times in 20 seconds,” you hiss back. “Plus, it's important that my family gets to know you, right?” Dami shakes his head in disbelief. Again, he’s trying not to smile, but his affection is revealed in the way the corners of his mouth turns upwards despite his best efforts. The whole flirtatious interaction is done nearly chest to chest with Damiano holding you firmly. You will your body not to slick up. The hormone suppression was supposed to help with that, but you didn’t trust its efficacy.

“And I am genuinely sorry that I’ve caused you so much stress.” The guilt settles in your throat, right below the origin of tears. Having all your exchanges as light-hearted flirting wasn’t authentic.

“Hush you, my life was boring before. No medical emergencies? No biblical levels of temptation?” You let out a dramatic yawn and Damiano looks skeptical and confused.

“Oh, I was just already getting bored from the description.” Dami rolls his eyes, sighing in mock annoyance. You delight in his humorous exaggerations, but when his gaze returns to yours, there's a hunger that can’t be hidden quick enough.

“C’mon lets get you back to bed,” he sighs. You suggestively wiggle your eyebrows as he guides you up the stairs and he pretends very poorly not to find it funny. “With the door open!” he exclaims. Damiano turns to see your mothers approval, but she’s already made herself scarce.

Thalia is standing in the hallway, just outside her door, observing. She doesn’t offer to help, probably preferring to watch documentary clips about ancient cave temples. So really, you appreciate the gesture of watching you make it back to your room.

“Dami, this is my sister Thalia, she’s 17 too, but she goes to Emerson.”

“Oh, congratulations! That’s really impressive, my general practitioner actually went to high school there.” You miss his hands on you, even if just to keep you from becoming concussed.

“Thank you.” She gives a single nod, then looks at you for an out.

“I should really sit down in case I get dizzy again.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” By the time you and Damiano have taken two steps over the threshold, Thalia has closed her bedroom door behind her. You sit in the middle of the bed, cross-legged.

“Was she mad at me?” Dami seems mystified. You forget that your older sister isn’t easily readable to those outside your family.

“No, I think she really liked you! She just hates obligatory conversations and talking to new people.”

“Huh, well that's understandable. I’m not the social butterfly I seem either. Or the, how did you phrase it so eloquently in front of your mother of all people, ‘massive slut?’”

“Oh, no?” you giggle, taking the bait.

“No! I admit…there was a stage when I was 16 that uh,” he tilts his head to the side and winces. “Why am I trying to justify myself to you?”

“I don’t know, but it's certainly amusing.”

“Oh, I’m glad I amuse you,” he replies, sarcastically.

Totally ignoring his tone of voice, you respond, “yeah, me too because I’ve been bored all day. Hey, dance monkey, dance!” Damiano does a little jump and jig that leaves you cackling, then looks baffled as to why he heeded your request. Dami brings a hand to his face, letting out a huff.

“What the fuck was I talking about?”

“Your 16th year spent balls deep in any willing orifice.”

“Oh my god, no!” He cringes and makes a gagging noise, shaking his head as if it was possible to dislodge the phrase from his memory. “I was a little more selective than that y/n, but yes…basically I had only one mated relationship and I was trying to get more experience while I killed time. Also I was horny and people were available.”

“How romantic,” you guaff.

“I like to see it as guaranteeing my feelings were tried and true.”. Suddenly this conversation is lost on you.

“Wait, what? Why was 16 year old Damiano killing time?”

“Because you were 14.” He’s bashful, shoving his hands in his jean’s pockets, rolling back on his heels and looking at the ground. For a few seconds, you’re unsure of what to say, and the silence hangs heavy in the air.

“You waited for me to be ready,” you marvel, suppressing the urge to leap off of your bed and onto Damiano.

“Well…yeah, but I wasn’t sure at first. It was experimental for a while.”

“And then?” you prompt.

“And then I was sure.” He says the words so casually, like this isn’t adjacent to a declaration of sorts. Alpha’s pledging to be an omega’s mate often results in a relationship that at the very least lasts several years. Damiano isn’t doing that, but he was letting you know that he was prepared for that step. He’s also watching your reaction very closely. Do you look freaked out or overwhelmed? His astute gaze flitted from one feature to the next.

“I don’t know what my face is doing, but you’re not going to scare me off with honesty.” You try to sound warm, crawling to the edge of the mattress to embrace. You stop yourself, unsure where Damiano stands when it comes to affectionate touch. He seems determined to stand in the middle of the carpet, and not any closer, out of reach.

“Come ‘ere,” you coax, beckoning him. “It feels weird and impersonal to have this conversation so far apart. I don’t like it.” Damiano steps almost within arms reach, his breath quickening. “You can sit. I’m not gonna do anything without your consent.” If Damiano didn’t know that already you’d made a massive error along the way.

“I just think I should stay standing.”

“Okay…”

“Because of how – because you’re too tempting to me. Like I’m –” he flexes, then clenches his hands into white knuckled fists. “I’m actively reminding myself that I can’t just do anything I want, but even with that thought, like…No matter how much I focus, all I can think about is all the things we could do and most of them require some kind of surface to rest on.” His jaw is set, veins in his neck visible as he swallows hard. Even the muscles in his face are tense.

“So you’re standing up,” you conclude. Deciding to meet him where he’s comfortable, you climb off the bed. Dami’s eyes go wide like he hadn’t thought of this possibility.

“May I hug you?” It takes him a moment to process, rolling his bottom lip against his teeth.

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” he replies softly. Instead of taking a step towards you, he takes two steps back, centering himself on the carpet, then holding his arms out. Apparently this is a safe distance from the bed. You walk into his arms and immediately he bends down and buries his face in your hair. Damiano breathes in like he’s about to dunk underwater, like your smell is what he needs to subsist. The second exhale turns into a rumbling growl of satisfaction that you can feel in his chest. One hand is wrapped around just under your shoulder blades and the other is massaging your scalp. Indisputably, Damiano needed this hug more than you did. He’s calming down, relaxing.

“God, I get fucking withdrawals. The way that you smell is just,” he exhales in carnal satisfaction, his chest rumbling again in a way that makes your nipples harden and every hair follicle stand up. You squeeze Damiano tight, reassuring yourself of his presence, forehead against his exposed chest. He’s wearing cologne, but his pheromones are overpowering it, as is the musk of body odor and you want to lick him clean.

“You’re not wearing a bra.” Damiano clears his throat roughly. His skin is so hot that it makes you shiver, like the contrast of a warm shower after coming in from a cold day.

“No, I’m still sore.” He starts to loosen the hug, but you squeeze tighter in response. That’s not what I meant.

“Can I tell you about my thoughts these past couple days like this?” You nod enthusiastically, and Dami rests his chin on your scalp. Anything to elongate the physical contact is welcome. He has one hand rubbing up and down your back slowly, and it's more calming than any drug.

“I think that ceasing all physical contact makes us so desperate we can’t function and then we fail anyways. Avoiding each other doesn’t work. So I think that touch in moderation is the only way to stay sane until you’re ready.”

“I agree.” Damiano pulls away so he can read your facial expressions.

“And this only applies as long as you’re completely comfortable. You can rescind consent at any time.” He was trying so hard to even out the power differential, when really you were on the verge of begging him to take advantage of you.

“And of course vice versa.” It feels like the adult thing to say so you punctuate it with a staunch nod.

“Sex and kissing is still off the table.” Immediately, you want to argue with the kissing ban, but decide to pick your battles.

“Define sex.” Damiano's eyes widen, then he looks behind him at the open door. “Mind if I close it now?”

“Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back, standing tall.

“Is there something off limits to talk about?” You ask, knowing the answer.

“No, of course not. You can ask me anything.” He gingerly turns the knob while shutting your bedroom door.

“Okay…” you climb back on the bed, stealing yourself for this conversation. “So tell me what counts as sex to you, just so we’re clear.”

“Well no knotting or penetration obviously.” He’s getting visibly flustered just talking about it, and you know it's because he’s picturing you.

“Does fingering count?”

“What – what do you mean? You can do anything you want to, um, to yourself.”

“I know that,” you dismiss, intent on keeping your cool. “But like, if I was really turned on could I ask you to finger me? Or would that not be okay?” You actually watch in real time as Dami’s brain short circuits. He starts shifting his weight back and forth, fixing his gaze just to the left of you.

“Well, n – not um, uh. It depends.” Even that non-answer seemed almost overwhelming for Damiano, and you know you take too much enjoyment in this.

“Because if you were ever really pent up, you could ask me for a blow job, just so you know. Would you ever give me oral? Only if you were super into it of course.” He takes a trembling breath and looks up at the ceiling. His hands are flighty, in his pockets, then folded, then resting at his sides like they can’t choose.

“Um, no. No, I don't think so. Not because I’m not – because I really, really want um…huh. I gotta – I’m gonna turn around.” It hard not to giggle over the fact that Dami is so sexual charged that he can’t look at you and talk about intercourse.

“Okay, so oral counts as sex, but fingering it depends. What about hand jobs? Could I give you a hand job?”

“I don’t, uh, hng –”

“I guess I should say that I give you permission to ask for a handjob if you ever wanted to.”

“Right, okay, um…” He turns back around, obviously flushed. “I need water. I need – need to uh –”

“Bathroom is across the hall.” Damiano turns mostly away from you and tries to adjust himself subtly. He looks over to find you literally licking your lips, because for a moment the outline was abruptly clear.

“Can you at least attempt to control yourself,” Dami objects. You laze back on the bed, languidly looking him up and down. For a moment, you wonder if this is what it's like to be an alpha. Then Damiano stares at you with a gaze that could burn through the mattress. He has both hands on his hips, cock proud inside his jeans, eyes searing and you remember your place.

“Sorry, I’ll go get us water,” you volunteered, feeling parched yourself.

“No, please just stay here,” he emphasizes, a hand gesturing at you to sit down. “I won’t be able to think of anything else if I’m worried about you falling down the stairs.” His concern has you feeling foolishly warm in your chest until you hear the bathroom door latch. An earnest panic propels you halfway across your room before you get a chance to evaluate it. The gist: I’m right here. I’m here and my alpha is in there with his hand and very active imagination. I’m right here!

It was not just about pleasure, his and yours, but the vulnerability at the moment of release. There's an intimacy in watching someone cum, even if you have nothing to do with it. All the little details of their form reveal something beyond the moment if watched closely enough, and you wanted to read Damiano like a map as he shook with pleasure. There's the warm panting of breath against your cheek, the slight sheen of sweat, the perfect balance of relaxation and tension in their face. How hands and toes curl, and the spine arches to reveal every sensation, letting you in on a sacred secret. Because this nakedness that had nothing to do with clothes was sacred. Orgasam unreliable except for being reliably honest.

However, now Damiano was already across the hall, behind a door, and you hadn’t had the chance to communicate any of this. A desperate plea of: let me close to you. Let me see you. You walked out into the hall, examining how strong your will might be. So often we lose chances because we write off mistakes as impossible to undo. We’re not willing to risk rejection and embarrassment.

You lean your forehead against the door and tap twice with the pad of your middle finger. It’s poorly made and hollow. Can he smell me? Damiano taps back from inside the bathroom, and you whisper against the doorframe.

“If this is how you desire this moment to be, tap.” There’s silence, and on the other side of the door Damiano is in the same position, breath held. “Then please come back to my room,” you whisper, hoping you’ve caught him in time. The door opens slowly, his eyes scanning the hall. Glancing down to his groin, you can see that Dami’s still hard, and you pull him into your across the hall, closing your door behind you.

“I understand that you want to wait for certain things, but the last people we should be hiding our sexualiy from is eachother.”

“You’re right. I should have made this a negotiation,” she shakes his head, scowling.

“Hey it’s okay,” you coo, “c’mere.” Damiano lets you pull him onto the bed. You sit back on your heels so he has room to arrange himself. At first, Dami mirrors you. Then he lays down, decides that's not right either, and props himself up on your pillows. He gages your reaction once settled, but you’re just happy to have gotten this far. You work your way up, hands rubbing his shins, then over the knee, lower thigh, and you stop before pushing any rules.

“Will you take your shirt off?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Damiano pulls it over his head and off, revealing his chest. You’re happy to explore that with your hands too, starting by running a hand from waist to neck along the centerline. Your fingertips trace his clavicle, sternum, then your palms caress his pecs. Repeatedly, you run into his necklaces, until Daminao takes both off and sets them on your bedside table. Now your thumbs brush over his nipples as you decide to come back to that. Every freckle is marked by your touch, every line of musculature stroked with care. You had to intentionally appreciate him in pieces, giving each their own moment, or you’d get utterly lost in the glory of his body.

Damiano’s abdomen quivers under your hand, the muscles contracting. When you reach his happy trail, his cock jumps too, and he holds his breath. His regulations that served as a hindrance were now forcing you to appreciate him more fully, so you make a game out of following them. Since kisses weren’t allowed, you kneel between his legs and simply rest your face on his skin, breathing him in, feeling the warmth that radiates from his body. You run your lips down his happy trail to feel the hair tickle, and realize there are so many things a mouth can do besides kissing.

Turning your attention back to his nipples, you position your lips over them, resting your body against his for as much contact as possible. Your hands cradle his ribcage, feeling each shuddering inhale. You suck his left nipple into your mouth gently and Damiano gasps. While increasing the suction in increments, his back rises off the bed and towards you, seeking more sensation. Switching tactics, you bite down lightly, and Dami lets out a moan. You look up to find his face wracked in pleasure, not even attempting to school his expressions. When was the last time someone savored him? Or did they all succumb to the overwhelm of his beauty?

Switching to the right side, you lick harshly, then trace his mauve nipple with the tip of your tongue. He lets out a whine, arching into your mouth, so you rake your teeth across the sensitive bud and feel a hand on the back of your head. Damiano allows himself to groan in pleasure, his pelvis rocking forth in search of pressure. You give him your weight, moving your body with his.

“Y/n, y/n please, just…just,“ he murmurs, hoarse from trying to control his volume. You look down and think about all the possibilities. Using friction you might be able to get him off as is.

“How may I serve you?” Dami looks burdened with decision making. His nose crunches, as he continues to roll his hips up to meet your abdomen.

“Clothes off,” he commands.You undo his belt buckle and his fly, before he gaffs. “Your clothes, darling.”

“Oh.” You look down at your own unflattering attire, having forgotten about it. Getting your shirt off was the easiest part, so you start with that. As soon as your breasts are exposed, nipples hard, Damiano captures one in his mouth, tweaking the other with his fingers. His mouth is warm, wet, and soft, the sensation going straight to your cunt. It’s immediately apparent that he knows what he’s doing, alternating between caressing with his tongue and sucking. Damiano is surprisingly gentle, no teeth, using just his lips to pull at and release your nipple.

“Touch yourself.” His earlier words appear in your mind. You can do anything you want to yourself. The problem was, getting yourself off took time, an above average amount of time from what you’d deduced. Obeying, you push your right hand into your underwear and find your clit. Damiano starts working a hickey into the soft tissue of your breast, and you try to focus on touching yourself, but end up distracted. Should you fake orgasam in a timely manner? Was Dami expecting you to finish anytime soon? Could you even get yourself to orgasam with another person watching?

His tongue, now refocused on your nipple, feels better than your own hand rubbing your vulva. You take it as a sigh to recognize the futility of this effort and do something else. Rescinding your hand from your pants, you return your focus to Damiano's state of dress, getting his trousers undone.

“I want to get you off first,” you justify. “Can I?” He nods, leaving goodbye kisses in the valley of your breasts. He lays back and helps you take off his bottoms and boxers. Damiano has the cock you’d expect from an alpha: sturdy, sizable, well-performing. He was rock hard, shaft not quite resting on his stomach. What you were perhaps more interested in, was his external scent glands. He hadn’t given you permission to suck his cock, but there were many other places to put your mouth.

Your hands parted his legs, and you propped yourself up in between. The wave of pheromones from his totally exposed glands made you feel inebriated for a moment. This was the first time you’d been this close to a matured alpha’s glands. They looked like you expected: two small swells, almost shaped like an unripe grape, just inside the crook of his thigh. There was a slit, similar to the gill of a fish, that allowed scents to be released.

“This is your first time seeing an alpha’s glands in person isn’t it?” Damiano asked, surprisingly confident for being in this vulnerable position.

“Mhm,” you confirmed, licking over the glands, which rested just below the testes. Your tongue continued to the root of Damiano’s cock. He hissed with sensitivity. Unsure if it was positive, you gave the other side the same treatment, this time a bit gentler.

“They’re really sensitive, baby, be careful,” Damiano warned. Instead of larger motions, you used the tip of your tongue to lightly trace the opening of each gland. Your touch was barely even there, but that seemed to be plenty of stimulation as Dami’s thighs clamped down around your head. You sensed movement above you as he started working his own cock. Taking this is a good sign, you continued your ministrations on the other side.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he groaned, shifting his pelvis. You shook your head between his legs, and took his balls into your mouth, one at a time. Each time you sucked on the soft, sensitive skin, you caressed the round shape of his testicle with your tongue. Damiano cursed and his unoccupied hand moved to your hair. It was almost preferable this way, you didn’t have to attempt to memorize and maintain the perfect rhythm for Dami. He did this for himself, allowing you to explore.

Wondering if his prostate was in the same place, you pressed a thumb between his scent glands, right underneath his sack, searching for that sweet spot. This was the special move you’d perfected over the last year since you’d lost your virginity. Older girls at school were gossiping about it, so you’d found yourself a diagram and a partner to test things out. If you managed to stimulate someone’s prostate externally, it was always obvious. Their legs would cramp down and spasm, fighting to maintain contact. It took considerably longer with Damiano, but you managed to locate his p-spot, and he nearly kneed you in the face.

“What the – what!? Oh my god,” he moaned. You kept pressure with your thumb while also returning to flicking his scent glands with your tongue. Who knew how much could be achieved on the male form without the gift of suction or friction. Damiano started to arch, not just up, but into you. His hand began working frantically, and you devoted yourself to continuing exactly what you’d been doing. Consistency was key and he yanked his cock ruthlessly. You could tell Damiano was near the edge by the tension in his body, by the way his moans climbed in pitch. The moment before release he was whining in a way you never imagine an alpha could, sounding just as desperate as any man, no hint of bravado.

Damiano came down the otherside rocking his groin against your face, milking his shaft to release rope after rope of cum. He looked down at himself, so focused, yet eyes always fluttering or even rolling back in his head. When the spunk no longer streamed from his dick, Dami still pulled at his member ruthlessly, until the sensation made him shiver in overstimulation. Only then did he let his exhausted cock rest. Getting the sense that he was done,, you sat up on your heels instead of crouching between his legs.

Damiano was flushed, sweaty, and panting. You rubbed his flank as he came back into his body, more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. It made you wonder how many times this is what he had craved around you, and how often he refused that urge. On so many occasions, he must have been painfully pent-up, nearly bursting from the efforts of self control. Dami could have just asked. If your lips between his legs was all that he required to orgasam, it was a small request indeed.

“You didn’t even try to finish,” he observed. You felt self-conscious, looking down at your body, unsure what to say.

“It just takes me a long time, so I’ve never tried doing it in front of someone else.”

“Huh.” He sounded genuinely intrigued, his eyes scanning your form, much more discerning than you’d like. Dami had probably been with other girls that could masturbate to completion for him. The situation left you jealous of the capabilities of people you’d never met.

Or perhaps you had met them, considering how Damiano got around. In fact, you had no idea who he’d slept with, but undoubtedly you’d interacted with a few of them in total ignorance. Had they known who you were? Did they think you were a fool?

“Why did you focus on your clit?”

“What?” This wasn’t a line of questioning you’d expected.

“I mean, if it takes you a long time to cum, why waste you time on your clit? Why didn’t you finger your scent glands?” Without meaning to, you release an exasperated sigh. Omega scent glands were internal, and highly sensitive. They were responsible for the production of slick. Unfortunately, you struggled to find yours, the same way beta’s struggled to find their clit.

“They’re really high up or something. I can never find them.” Dami looked vexed by this answer and you wanted to snap at him. As a sexually liberated alpha you were just bracing for the lecture about failing to embrace your sexuality. If you just embraced it, masturabating would be easy. In essence, you were holding yourself back. This messaging was blasted at you from a culture so sex positive it became toxic.

“I could show you.” His eyes were careful, but his face devoid of judgment. “I understand if that’s more sexual contact than you’re comfortable with, of course.” You made a face, nose scrunched as you weighed your options. “What are you thinking?” he prompted.

“Well…” You let out an exasperated huff. “I’m pretty sure they’re not in a normal place so what if you figure that out and don’t want me because I’m deformed.” Damiano had one eyebrow cocked, smiling in amusement.

“What!?” He threw his hands up in concession.

“Your slick production is normal, your hormones are normal, so anything wrong with your glands is only going to bother you. So unless they have teeth, I’m really not worried.” You sigh, nodding. It's humorous how serious the conversation has become before the jizz on Dami’s chest has even cooled.

“Okay, so should I just…?”

“Lay on your back,” he instructed, pulling his boxers back on. You’re of half a mind to complain about his state of partial dress. Stacking a couple pillows on top of eachother, you rest on the bed, feeling a weird combination of naked and covered with your breasts fully exposed, but also still wearing wool socks. Dami pulls his pants back on, looking way more sexy than he has the right to. You let out a groan of complaint, and he gives you a full, shining smile.

“I think it's best if only one of us has our underwear off at a time.” The view of his canines reminds you of last week, or was it a lifetime ago? When he’d come to your defense, in full alpha headspace, but you felt unafraid. Gia’s older sister had said that one of the most offputting things about sex with alphas is the shift in appearence. The teeth, the darkened eyes, muscles flexing, but you’d been unbothered.

“Why didn’t you change, just now?”

“I, um –” he clears his throat, crawling towards you. “Well, I tried not to. I know it can be, um…when I’m able to, I try to avoid it.” He’s shy about something, not meeting your eyes.

“What?”

“It’s uh…” he sighs and looks out the window. “I really freaked someone out once, when I had just turned 15. I guess they thought that, like, that, it was a myth, a scary story.” He finally meets your eyes, wincing.

“Oh, no. It was bad? Screaming, crying, running, the whole horror show?” Beta’s had a tendency for treating alphas and omegas like fantastical creatures, with the myths and legends to match.

“Yeah,” he lets out a huff, turning to face you. “And when his parents came to see what was wrong, I was still…”

“Exposed?”

“Mhm, it was horrendous.” He flops down next to you, and the intimacy of laying on your bed together makes you feel warm, even if you’re talking about a former hookup. Damiano leans his head against yours.

“Sounds traumatizing for both of you.” He nods, and laces your hands together. So this is what people mean when they talk about butterflies.

You forget how little empathy and softness is allotted to male alphas. Just treating Damiano like a person built rapport. He lifts your hands up where you can see them, lacing and unlacing, like a flower blooming. Every brush of skin is a rush, and you finally understood Dami’s reasoning. Sure, you could very well hurry from meeting to knotting, but he wanted time for these moments, when holding someone’s hand feels a little forbidden and so exciting. If someone’s knotted you, there’s no thrill from lining your palms up exactly.

“Must have been hard, everyone having sympathy for him, but not you, even though someone treated you like a monster in the middle of sex for something your couldn’t help.”

“You know, I never thought of it like that.” He turns onto his side, and you do the same, almost kissing. It's wonderfully humanizing to observe flaws in Damiano. He hasn’t plucked his eyebrows and his patchy stubble is starting to show. He had a freckle in the hollow of his cheek that you can barely see and two blemishes near his cupid’s bow.

“You’re very symmetrical,” you whisper, brushing a curl that had fallen in front of his eye. His hair is long, just past his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of adoration in his expression which completely throws you off guard.

“Well, you get called hot all the time, so I have to use some originality.”

“You know, actually I don’t. My mom’s friends are big fans, though.” There's no ego, it's an honest response. He’s not performing. You hadn't realized how much intention Damiano put into presenting himself, until he wasn’t allocating any energy to the task. His skin is soft, but the softness went beyond that. His expression was careful, his face relaxed, and his smile modest. Perhaps that softness had more to do with what wasn’t there: a system of defense. His hold to maintain control was so tight, but now that you’d helped him cum, he could decompress. You realize you've never seen him not battling impulses.

“Hi there.” Reintroducing yourself in a hushed tone only feels appropriate. You rub your nose against his, so close you could feel his breath on your cheeks.

“Hey,” he responds, eyes focused on your lips. Knowing you’re about to get completely lost, you fight to remember the point that felt so important to make.

“I’m not, I don’t mind,” you sigh. Damiano shifts his eyes back up, curious. “The change, I don’t mind. I’ve already seen it, it doesn't scare me.”

“It’s not a big thing,” he assures, analyzing your expression closely.

“I just hate the idea of you holding anything back,” you justify and Dami stops breathing. “Even if it’s possible to do, I want to see you change if that's what comes naturally. You waste your energy maintaining control when that's never been what I want or need.” You’re halfway through letting out a breath when you find yourself flipped on your back, with Damiano crouching over you. He rests on one knee, which he’s using to apply pressure to your groin. It leaves you squirming, unsure if you’re allowed to grind down on it.

“Did I say something –”

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” he purrs, and lowers himself, licking up the valley of your breasts. He gets a forearm under the small of your back then nips at your stomach, lifting your body up to meet him. He knows you’ve never been bit before, and you’re both aware that your stomach is the most sensitive part of the body. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, and look at the ceiling, waiting for whatever he chooses.

The apprehension is excruciating, but the brush of his neck while scenting you is a sweet resolution. All those subsequent happy chemicals start to blur the edges of your vision, so you jump when his lips finally return to your body, delivering a sweet kiss. You’re about to compliment him for being gentle when he begins sucking a hickey into your left breast, just under the existing one. That spot is going to be sore tomorrow. The arm under your back forces you to endure this as well, as does his tongue which licks all the low places on your chest where sweat might collect. Eyes closed, your body curves into every touch. He’s painful one moment and soothing the next. You end up debating whether to fight omega headspace, or let yourself slip away under the attention of an alpha.

“Y/n,” he summons your attention. It takes you a moment to focus, but clear vision isn’t needed to observe his eyes which have turned charcoal black. He looks up from your body, without words saying “this is who I am. I’m taking the risk of showing you.” Damiano doesn’t even bother to hide the insecurity behind alphaism. The sight of anyone bearing these characteristics should make you cower with fear, but Dami is your alpha, and you have never been afraid.

“You are magnificent.” Your index finger traces the bridge of his nose, booping the tip affectionately. He seems to accept this, relaxing his mouth so his top lip isn’t covering his canines. Alpha teeth look sharper in person than you expected, but given their purpose is to pierce through flesh, it makes sense.

Testing you, he rises up to your neck, breathing in deep, letting out a rumbling that borders on a growl. He snaps his teeth near your ear, implying a threat to mark you. However, you know that Dami would never do such a thing without asking, so the threat is empty.

“I’m not afraid of you.” You cup his cheeks in both hands, noticing that his dark lashes are the perfect framing for his new features. He must see this affection in your eyes, and for a very brief moment, Damiano looks like he might cry. Instead, he relaxes against you, resting some of his weight on your form, pressing your foreheads together. It's so intimate that with anyone else you’d close your eyes, but Dami doesn’t, so you don’t either.

“I see you.”

“I see you,” he nods. For now, those sentences mean drastically different things. You join in, and the act of nodding with your foreheads pressed together is so silly looking that he smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“How much experience do you have with omega headspace?”

“Nothing substantial.” Damiano holds himself up on one elbow, propping his head in his hand. Its comforting to have the weight of his body resting on you, so warm you’re beginning to perspire.

“I know you’ve never been with an alpha before, but you can explore it on your own, no?”

“Have you ever realized that you overslept for something important while you were still dreaming? And you wake up in this disorienting panic?”

“Christ, that's how it feels?” His eyes switch back to hazel in the span of one blink.

“When there's no one to give control to, yeah. So you can’t ever truly let go, but some for people it's still worth it. Not me, I like control.”

“Yeah I know,” he murmurs, brushing hair away from your face as you had his. You’d forgotten how nice it was to have your hair played with and you let out a sigh. Closing your eyes now won’t be perceived as rejection, so you do, turning your head towards his hand. It's the first time Damiano has seen you totally relaxed, and you look angelic. It's a reminder of your inexperience, and he immediately questions his choice to guide and educate, rather than preserve certain parts of your innocence. However, the fact that you trust him this deeply, having seen exactly who he is, leaves Damiano without the choice to walk away. He’s hooked.

For the first couple minutes, Damiano stroking your head is wonderful, but it causes other parts of your body to demand attention with distracting insistence. You have to resist squirming underneath his touch. You want to seek out more pressure, stimulation, or just something. Because you’ve never had this much physical contact with him before, and its awakening desires you couldn’t put a name to. Despite the hormone suppressants, your body is reacting to his pheromones and musculature, revealed by his bare chest.

Out of curiosity, you open your eyes, unsure if you’ll find hazel of midnight black. It’s the latter and his brow is furrowed in thought. The tips of his canine teeth press into his plush lower lip. You’re too hot, not like the radiant heat of a fire, but like a fever.

“You’re not relaxed,” he observes, and only then are you aware of your breathing.

“Oh,” you gasp, trying to calm your rapid oxygen intake. “Yeah, I’m really warm.” You fan yourself and Damiano turns his head, face scrupulous.

“All of your muscles are tense.” He’s observing you with the kind of objectivity that's insulting. It reminds you of him rattling off your symptoms a couple days ago. You didn’t want Damiano to be capable of being impersonable. You wanted to affect him to the point that it made his life difficult, because that's what he did to you.

“Did I pull your hair?”

“Huh?”

“Or am I too heavy?” He starts adjusting and as a result his locks brush against your nipples. You grimace in an effort not to make a noise. However, his knee is wedged between your legs again and you can’t help the pitiful sound that escapes. Nor can you help the impulse to grind down as hard as you can, regardless of what's permitted. He smirks, and the realization that Dami knew what he was doing all along has you swiping at his shoulder.

“Hey, hey!” he protests, eyeing switching back to hazel as he giggles.

“Mean!” you proclaim, getting a hold of a pillow and hitting him upside the head. “Rude, very rude!” You flip onto your side, pouting, with your arms crossed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he croons, laying behind you. Dami presses his face to your scalp and takes a deep, self indulgent breath. He rolls his hips up so he’s spooning you, cock half-mast. Damiano’s entirely bare chest is pressed to your entirely bare back, creating a position you could likely masturabate to completion in. You’re wracked by a full body shudder as he scoots infinitesimally closer to you. Now this is intimate.

Birth control and suppressants are not enough to overpower your biological reaction to this much skin to skin contact with an alpha. Your heart rate starts to speed up and laying still feels impossible, even though you’d rather die than move from this exact spot. The kinetic energy building in your pelvis had you on the verge of screaming, or combusting. All you could do was rub your thighs together desperately while Damiano took his sweet ass time savoring your presence.

“This is really nice,” he whispers into your ear, voice husky. Suddenly the realization hits that he got to cum and you haven't. You take the hand that rests on your side and pull it onto your stomach, slowly sliding down. The hand directing his shook with anticipation, as Dami showed no signs of objecting.

“Please touch me,” you begged as you pushed his hand into your underwear. There's no point in maintaining your pride, when you’d far rather have the ability to plead. He slides his right hand between your legs, cupping your vulva. You sort of can’t believe he’s touching you here. Maybe it's the pheromones that make it feel like a transcendent experience. His hand is sure, providing pressure and warmth, slick dripping between his fingers. You roll your pelvis against him, prompting Dami to move, but he doesn’t. You cannot be held responsible for any desperate whining that occurred in protest. Why won’t he do anything?

“I’m taking off your shorts and underwear” he narrates in your ear. You like that he doesn’t ask. It's better that he didn’t ask. Wiggling out of the remainder of your clothes isn’t as dignified as you’d like it to be. Using your left foot, you fling them off the end of the bed. Immediately you open your legs and Damiano slides his hand in between. The lack of fabric lets you pin his hand there, by squeezing your thighs shut. He allows you to enjoy the presence and warmth from your clit to your opening. Taking liberties, you grind harshly against his hand, holding it in place by his wrist. Hearing no protest you try rubbing your thighs together again. Having something between them this time was so satisfying that you start rutting into his palm, and don’t police the moans that come forth.The slick dripping from your cunt starts to make the soft tissue at the largest part of your thigh stick together.

“Let me know when your done treating my hand like a sex toy,” Dami whispers, smile audible. You feel yourself flush with embarrassment so hard that it aches in your chest. Looking up at him, he eyes are still somehow kind, despite being void of color.

“Sorry,” you squeak, stilling.

“Don’t apologize,” he purrs directly into your ear. Each approving hum is punctuated by his tongue swiping at the extremely sensitive follicles in your ear canal. You relax your legs and Dami stretches out his hand. Immediately, you’re a little bit horrified for being in such a horny frenzy that you nearly dislocated his fingers. This is offset by his good natured chuckle against your cheek. This gives you courage.

“Will you take your jeans off?”

“I – um, I”

“For the skin contact,” you clarify. He nods behind you, rescinding his hand and rolling onto his back. The vein on his forehands stands out as he lifts his hips to remove them. Once his pants are shed, also thrown off the side of the mattress, Dami puts his attention to other matters. He readjusts his hard cock, tucking the head under the waistband of his boxers, to minimize the sensation of being stabbed in the back. Then he flips back over to embrace you, and presses your bodies together in every way possible. One leg rests between yours, parting your thighs. It's such a rush that you make a sound like the wind being knocked out of you. In that moment, Damiano could have started with three fingers and you’d take them happily. You’re sweating, pussy dripping, but he didn't make you wait. Damianos pushes one finger inside to the hilt.

“More, more,” you beg, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. He inserts a second digit and has to clamp a hand over your mouth.

“Uhh, uh, oh my god.”

“Shh,” he quieted. You didn’t care. You really didn’t care how loud you were, not even slightly, not even enough to be decent. You were entirely indecent as Damiano pushed two fingers inside, deep enough to brush your scent glands. Your hips bucked against his palm, then missed the contact of his body so you glued against Damiano’s form where he lay behind you.

“And those are your scent glands.” His mouth was parted in focus, displaying his teeth, whose shape only made your cunt throb. His gaze was directed down to his hand, hair falling in front of his face and tickling your shoulder. Despite the change, Damiano’s expression was so clearly that of careful concentration. His eyes flitted back up to check on you, and found himself being admired. He grinned and you could see the vein on his temple, the flex of his jaw. Perfectly collected Dami, in his element, was not collected at all, but he was free.

His embrace was steady and consistent, every other touch left you shaking. Once you realized that Damiano was keeping his hand over your mouth, you stopped worrying and let yourself slip into sensation, letting out whatever cries of pleasure were prompted. You were floating in your own head, so thankful for being spooned by your alpha, because otherwise there would be no anchor.

“More, please. Please, more, please. Dami please!”

“Shh, breath. You’re okay, y/n.” His contact with your scent glands became more substantial, which was impressive considering he was doing this completely blind. The sensation was like a bolt of electricity to the core of your pelvis. It hurt, or rather it contained the idea of pain which was totally overpowered by the sensation of crippling pleasure. Maybe it was all an expression of intensity. Maybe you were so lost in this soul deep satiation that you were trying to make sense of the nonsensical.

You kicked Damiano in the shin bone as your body tried to externalize some of this unmanageable sensation. Your grip on the bedding ripped the fitted sheet up.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Dami reminded you. However, you knew you were okay and what could possibly suggest otherwise when you were experiencing more pleasure than you had in your entire life.

“You’re so beautiful like this, I wish you could see yourself,” he admired.

“More, more,” you demanded through gritted teeth.

“You might not be ready for three. Baby, take a breath.” You tried to inhale, but it got caught in your throat as Damaino managed to find a new place inside you that had never been touched. Accidentally, you bit down on his hand. It wasn’t a thought out impulse, just the first thing that came to mind. You didn’t make the connection to where the urge came from in time to stop it.

He wasn’t cruel. Damiano wouldn’t penalize you within a couple minutes of an orgasam you’d obviously needed more than he’d understood. He could appreciate that this was his own failing to an extent. Instead Dami put his fingers into your mouth, and sucking on his pointer and middle finger seemed to render you content.

Biting Dami’s hand then sucking on his digits caused you to sink into a new head space that was deeply primal. You couldn’t have opened your eyes if you wanted to. You felt like his pup, a position of total submission. You didn’t need sight, nor taste and smell. All you needed to be Damiano’s pup was the ability to feel and hear his directions, and then obey.

“Three, three, three, three,” you chanted.

“Baby, I don’t want to tear your hymen or hurt you or –”

“Three, three. Please, three.” Your voice was wracked with tears. The urge to cry was inexplicable, there was nothing to prompt such a reaction. Yet there you were, fears falling from your eyes to his hand that you suckled like a pup. He let out a sigh and gave you three.

Damiano had been right, it was too much. This was a bad position to take three fingers, so you opened your hips more by hooking your heel over his thigh. Still, it stung. Where there should have been whines of discomfort, out come sounds of deranged pleasure. Tears fell from your eyes and Damiano had to apply some force to get to the last knuckle. It was too much, you felt too full, and maybe that's why you’d craved it in the first place. Maybe you’d known this was more than your body could take, and you’d done so anyway to appease some convoluted desire that you didn’t understand.

“I can’t knot you, I’m sorry.” That was the name of the yearning: a knot. So easily you’d been reduced to your biology, but instead of fear, you felt freedom. Damiano interprets your tears as pain, which they may will be. You had no idea what was going on, only that sucking on Dami’s fingers brought you comfort.

He switches back to a single digit and adjusts so every inch of him is pressed against every inch of you. He uses that one digit to stimulate your scent glands at a pace that brings you to orgasam. You almost yelped in surprise when a rush of slick wetted your and Damiano’s thighs. It seemed that sensation was building and building, until you arrived at a peak so suddenly that you were surprised to find yourself free falling into climax. Dami didn’t abandon you. He remained cupped over your vulva just as you had positioned it, holding you close. The fingers on his other hand, still in your mouth. As self awareness returned you startled, feeling unable to open your eyes. Damiano felt you wince and started soothing you with his words.

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere. This is normal.” His thumb whipped the tears you hadn’t realized were falling and the hand that had been between your legs moved to rub your tummy. He started humming in your ear, melodies that sounded vaguely familiar bleeding into one another. It felt like a mediation until you, a grown ass woman, realized she had someone’s hand in her mouth.

“And you’re back,” he chuckled as you spit out his fingers and cringe in disgust.

“Ew, what the fuck?” You rough wiped at the tears on your cheeks, then the drool around your mouth. “What the fuck?” you repeated, this time more hysterical.

“How do you feel? I didn’t mean for you to slip into headspace. It's never happened like this before.” You know Dami doesn’t mean any offense, but it still makes you self conscious. “I would have prepared you, I’m sorry.”

“I mean I’m…fine.” You turn onto your back while he observes you closely. Your eyes are drawn downward, to the wet spot at the top of Dami’s boxers. He follows your gaze, bashfully.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, um…it’s just – it’s just if you had seen yourself. Like, holy shit, but I know –”

“It’s actually kind of affirming, Dami, don't worry about it.” You gesture to the tissue box, which he uses to clean two ejacutions worth of jizz off his chest. Your brain begins to process the last however long.

“Oh my god I…I – why?”

“You didn’t do anything strange, don’t worry,” he calms. “I’ve just never seen someone slip into omegan headspace like that before.” Upon observing your expressions, Damiano immediately backpedals. “And that's not a bad thing! There's just always been some barriers, but you’re not put off by the change, so…” He trails off, beaming. How anyone could find this terrifying after knowing Dami is beyond you. His expression was full of so much sweetness and vulnerability. Your chest swells with the knowledge that you’ve validated him or your dynamic, in some way.

“Is my…like am I still –”

“Vampire Damiano? Yes you are. I thought you could feel the change.” His behavior had suggested as much.

“I can, it’s just…your face,” he grins.

“What's wrong with my face?” you demand, purposefully indignant.

“Nothing! Nothing! I like your face. I’m just not used to this reaction. It's a nice surprise. It’s really really nice.” After everything, this somehow makes you blush, but you can’t resist the urge to tease him a little bit.

“So that thing you said about wanting me to date other people in the meantime so I could be sure.” Damiano lets out a snarl, but it's playful and nothing else. He starts poking at your sides, testing if you’re ticklish. Once he gets you laughing, Dami pins you to the bed with his weight.

“Mine,” he growls in your ear. “Mine. Mine. Mine!”

Notes: Depressive mood swing over, fan fiction up! Any spacing issues are due to Tumblr barely letting me upload this due to its size. As always I live for external validation and thanks for reading (and waiting)!

taglist: @asianhawkeye @biancathecool @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @bohemianrainbow @boyswillbeexecutied @butkutee @ch3rryk4ii @cuzimitaliano @damoriaa @daisy0gf @donuts247usa @elvirabelle @ethaneskin @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @homesicam @iamtashaquinn @idyllicbutterfly @immrbrightsideeee @iosonoarina @ilwiwbysmv @katyldamusic @l0standn0tf0und @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @minnietmouse @obiw4n @ohdamiano @que--sera--sera @teacosea @teenyweenynightghost @thatonebraziliangirl @thegeminisgirl @theimpossiblehologramtree @solacestyles @stardustingold @superchrystaldrug @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @woahzz11 @xweirdxsceletton @dustyinkpages @the-chaotic-cow

#damiano #maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #damiano maneskin #omegaverse maneskin #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #damiano david fluff #damiano david smut #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #maneksin imagine #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin smut #maneskin x reader #maneskin fluff

204 notes · View notes

awkwardspontaneity · 3 years

Note

Hello. This is my first request for the Legend of Zelda, so I do not know how to write it correctly. I don't speak English and I'm writing this in a translator, so there may be mistakes here, sorry. In general, I want to see how the reader will react to the fact that Revali, Link and Sidon cheated on her. (something made me feel sad) Thank you in advance ╹▽╹

I'm so sorry something happened to upset you. If it's along the lines of this request give me a name😤👊 anyways thank you so much for requesting!! This ended up being so much longer than I intended but I'm pretty happy with it. I hope this is what you're looking for!

✨ requests are open✨

Warning: angst, cheating

Revali🐦

I think with his prickly nature not a lot of people would stick around long enough to get to know how much he cares

But some bitch saw how much he was training to perfect his powers to help Hyrule and couldn't resist

It started off as bringing him lunches and heat pads after a long day of training and then it escalated

They would wrap his wings up and suddenly he was letting them fix his braids. He never saw it as much more than a fan helping him out but you saw differently

It ended up in a big fight when you finally brought up how Revali was allowing this fan to hang off of him like they were his partner not you. You brought up excellent points like how he took such a long time to even trust you with braiding his hair and that he could at least let them know he's in a relationship.

Revali got upset (probably cuz ur right and he can't admit it) and snapped that at least they appreciated him

Yeah bad move. You walked out and bird brain left to train away the pain

You came across his first and decided to head to the shooting range with some peace snacks but what do you find?

You walk up the slope towards the archery range, a container of Revali's favourite snacks in hand. As you approach you see something sitting inside the hut and assume it's him. Sterling your breath you walk into the hut and what you find takes your breath away- not in the good way either. Revali sat there with his wings wrapped around them, too caught up on their liplock to notice you standing there.

CRASH

The container hits the ground with a shatter, ruining their little scene.

"Y/n-"

"Don't even try it." You wish your voice didn't sound as broken. No matter how much your heart squeezed in pain from the betrayal, you wanted to come off so much different- angrier. Because you were angry. "Just because we have an argument does not give you the right to run off with your new friend."

Revali flinches at the word and you feel a sick glimmer of satisfaction. He opens his mouth to protest, ignoring your glare. "I-I'm sorry." Your glare darkens and he immediately flounders for the right words. "You accused me of something I didn't do-"

Yeah, not the right words. You wish you could do something, anything to hurt him like he hurt you. But you had to be the bigger person no matter how much you wanted to snap that precious bow of his in half.

"I accused you, not have you permission."

"We can work through this, together" his wing reached out to you, but you recoiled to fast.

"We're not together." You walked towards the entrance "I hope it was worth it."

Link 🗡️

Link is a closed off person. Sure he has people worship him for his title as the hero of Hyrule, but he would never let that get to his head. You could tell this boy he's amazing and it still wouldn't get through his insecurities

Maybe it's cruel but, that almost reassured you he would never break your heart like that. You felt secure in your relationship

That's why it was so shocking when you found out he had fallen for Zelda.

It wasn't meant to ever be more than knight and princess. And you never should have found out.

You were walking towards the stables of your party was staying at. It was supposed to be a simple trip to complete some research out in the plains. Of course your trip was ambushed by an energetic princess who begged to come along for research purposes. You couldn't complain because the addition of the princess also came with your boyfriend Link.

Now you were looking for him outside the small ranch. You fully expected him to be caring for Epona like he always did after a long trip. His love for his horse was something you had always loved about him. The way he would stay later than everyone else to make sure she was okay. It had made stables kind of your spot. Hanging out at the end of a long day to talk and spend time together while caring for your steeds.

Maybe that was why your heart felt so utterly shattered when you did find him, standing next to the stable, with the princess in his arms. Maybe you could have fooled yourself into believing he was being friendly if he hadn't pressed a long loving kiss to her forehead followed by both her cheeks, chuckling softly as she giggled.

You knew they had always been close. I mean they spent all their time together. You'd just never thought that Link would do something like this to you.

You walked away from the stables fighting backs the tears in your eyes. It was only when you found you had walked into an older area, a spare shack outside, that you finally let the tears fall. Your heart twisted in pain as sobs tore from your throat.

Why hasn't you seen this? Why weren't you enough?

------

Your research trip was almost over. You had gone back late into the night to find Link on the edge of his bed head in his hands. He had shot up to demand where you had been when you finally walked in and although he looked like he wanted to argue, he accepted that you had been organizing your research supplies and notes in quiet.

That had been 3 days ago. You had spent the research trip sticking close to your colleagues, poring over each plant and testing their uses. The princess was too distracted with her own interests to really notice how you shied away from her presence. Link had though. And he was about done with you brushing him off in favour of your work. You both were busy so not having time was nothing new. But this was different. You couldn't meet his eyes and he had caught you staring at him and Zelda as if you were about to cry before. He was at a loss and now he needed to figure things out for himself.

However he wasn't quite ready for the answer.

"I saw you and Zelda together."

His throat closed up. He wanted to say so many things. How sorry he was. How he wished he could have told you himself. How he wished he could hold you and forget how complicated things were.

"it's okay." Now that, he wasn't expecting. "I thought I could be mad at you. Both of you. But I guess... It just makes sense." You sniffled softly. You really didn't want to do this. You hated that it had to be you who gave up. But we're you really going to fight? No. As much as it tore your heart into pieces, you would stand aside for them. "I wish that things hadn't changed but, clearly you don't feel the same anymore and I don't want to hold you back. I love you. So much. But I don't deserve this, and I won't put either of us through the trouble. I hope you two are happy together Link."

As you walked towards your friends to head home Link felt his heart clench. You deserved so much better.

Sidon🦈

You were a princess from another kingdom, betrothed to Prince Sidon of the Zora. We all know how these things go, neither of you were all that fond of the idea but you would go through with it. For your kingdoms

You tried to be as understanding as possible of the situations, knowing that the prince was just as trapped as you were. So you played along with your parents wishes.

You two went on dates and spent time together, getting closer and closer until finally you kissed him.

Things were great. You were planning your wedding and enjoying the time you spent with your fiance as you prepared for your future

It wasn't until a few days before the wedding when you were trying on your dress that things fell apart.

Your dressmaker had been in a bad mood, grumbling as they worked and even sticking you with needles a few times. You would have brushed it off as a bad day if not for the facts that they seemed so unapologetic.

You finally brought it up, softly asking if there was something wrong and if you could help. They snapped, going off about how you were ruining the princes life and that he didn't love you and was only marrying you for his kingdom and that he deserved to be happy.

They realized their mistake and left quickly, leaving you alone in your wedding dress with shocked tears slipping down your face.

You later made you way to Sidons office, hoping to clear some things up and maybe seek comfort from the one you loved.

What you didn't expect was to find him already comforting someone. Your dressmaker.

You watched as he whispered sweet nothings and reassurances to them. It was when he said no matter what they were the one that he loved when you broke away.

You stood in your room, packed bags beside you. You knew there were better ways to deal with this. You knew that your kingdom was counting on you and thus marriage. You just couldn't go through with it. Not anymore.

"Y/n?"

You sound around to find the Zora princess standing in your doorway. Mipha had become a close friend in your time in the Zora domain, even feeling like family as you worked closely planning the wedding. She had once told you that you were everything she could hope for in a sister and wife for her brother. You guessed it didn't matter in the end.

Finally you choked out pained words "I can't... I just... I can't do this anymore."

"If you are feeling nervous, I can assure you my brother would never hurt you."

This made you laugh. It was cold, similar to the ice creeping into your veins. "He would. And he did." You cut off Mipha's confusion, wringing a hand through your hair, "Sidon is in love with someone else. I made every effort to work through this engagement despite our... rocky beginning. But he didn't choose me back. He never wanted me, and I won't ruin his chance to be happy."

The room was silent after your outburst. You only noticed the tears when your friend wiped them from your eyes. She offered you a small smile, sharing the pain you felt. She was losing you and still understood it was best for you. You needed to move on and save yourself from a life of pain. A life of being chosen second.

"I hope one day we can meet again, sister."

You let out a choked mix of a son and laugh. Hugging the princess before you grabbed your bags and walked out the door, out of the kingdom that stole your heart and crushed it in its hands.

"I love you, always."

#loz x reader #loz link x reader #botw link x reader #legend of zelda link x reader #breath of the wild link x reader #link x reader #botw revali x reader #breath of the wild revali x reader #botw sidon x reader #breath of the wild sidon x reader #sidon x reader #revali x reader #asks #awkward responses #angst #cheating #botw x reader

485 notes · View notes

midava · 2 years

Text

Diluc x reader - Small suprise

Diluc and you have today anniversary. Two years togheter. It was a normal day. Poeople in Tvaren. Pouring wine, cleaning glasses. Last visiters just made their ways to home. Tavern closed. Only you and Diluc.

You had something for him, but you leaved at home for later, when the two of you get home. Diluc cleaned last glass: ,,We can go," you smiled and nod. As always, while holding yours hands you walk home to the winery. But Diluc turned in opposite way before last turn.

You give him confused look when you wanted to argue he smiled calmly: ,,Please, just give me a minute," you look in his eyes. Something was behind them. Some seecret. Maybe thats why he had all day good mood.

Diluc walk with you in near forest. You look around... You saw a place with little blue lights... Lamp grass. His favourite flower and yours as well. Diluc and you get more closer and closer.

Now you see it corectly... Circle made of Lamp grassi in middle blancket with basket. Your eyes were full of joy tears. You didn´t expect this suprise of his. He se brushed off your tears from your cheeks when he sat down on a blacket with you.

,,Please, enjoy this," he whispered to make you stop cry. You look so adorable when you cry from joy. But that wasn´t all he planed.

He took something from the basket. It was bottle of wine... luxury one. He keeps these in his celler for celebrations. He took to glaases as well. ,,Diluc, you don´t drink wine,".He smiled at your comment: ,,Just for this time,"

He poured wine into glasses. He gace you one and he hold his in front of you to chin with. You chined and before he took a sip he said: ,,On us,"

You reapeted after him and smiled. Both of you took a sip, It was excelent as always. You spend some time talking about many things. It was nice and beautyfull night, but do you really thought it was all Diluc prepared? There was another thing.

Diluc took your hands in his while standing up. He look lovingly into your eyes: ,,To our anniversary," he take out of his pocket smal box. It was small black semish box. ,,Diluc, I don´t deserve that," he put his finnger on your lips to be quiet: ,,Please close your eyes," he said calmly.

You didn´t want to argue more so you close them. You heard small click when Diluc opened the box. The exitment grow in you. You want to know what is inside. He smiled when he saw again his present. Carefully he take it out from a box.

Something cold touched your neck... It was something from metal. It quickly adapted to your warm. It was a necklace. When he zip it he kissed your lips. It was passionate kiss, full of love. You reched to carres his cheek.

Two of you seperete to catch a breath. He hold your hands in his. You looked down on his presenet ge gave you. It was a beautyfull necklace with dark rubby. Dark red as a wine. It must be expensive. Diluc smiled as you adored the jewlery.

You look back at him. Tears of happaness in your eyes: ,,I never take it off," You hugged him thight around neck and whisper: ,,Don´t buy me any expensive gifts," He chuckle a little: ,,Everything for you love," You cheeks blushed and he kissed your forehead. Ater this moment you took your things and get home togheter. It was time to show him your present to yours anniversary, but thats another story.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hii! Hope you enjoy this story! <3 Sorry if it´s not good... I am sick a little, but I am trying to get well soon! Wish you great day and I thank you so much for your support! <3

-With love, Mantao. <3

#genshin impact #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc x y/n #diluc fluff

114 notes · View notes

ryouverua · 3 years

Text

Saimota is a fantastic ship that only improves with age and their respective maturity. Right from the get-go we see this in canon, too! They have a tumultuous first clash at the end of chapter 1 which is immediately turned on its head, and the subsequent growth and development of their in-game relationship really stands out that much more because of it.

This is a long one, so strap in!

Kaito realizes his mistake in his approach after punching him the night before and rectifies it immediately the next morning when he notices Shuichi hasn’t come to breakfast, rightly guessing that he’s stewing in his own grief and misery. And then, being the emotionally intelligent guy he is, he follows up that night and drags him out to exercise (which, y’know, releases endorphins and is scientifically proven to help with mood boosts and even depression) - a move which Shuichi says in chapter 5 saved his life.

A couple days pass and a body drops. Kaito supports him through the investigation knowing that Kaede had been with him last time and that there’s a danger of him relapsing. In the trial, too, Kaito makes every effort to let Shuichi know that he isn’t alone and someone does have his back if he fumbles. This is the real moment that Shuichi chooses to depend on Kaito and is rewarded for it, and while Kaito does get plenty of ego-feed out of it, he believes in Shuichi and his talent wholeheartedly (enough so that it’ll come back to bite him later). But despite it being framed as a ‘hero and sidekick’ relationship, it’s not just for Kaito’s self-worth - it’s to take some of the mental load off of Shuichi, who really, really doesn’t want the pressure of everyone’s lives solely on his shoulders, and is now dealing with the guilt of two cases where uncovering the guilty party hurt him.

(quick chapter 2 interlude! while this is where a lot of the big hero-worship begins for Shuichi and happens to be where I also did his first FTE and got to witness this:

this is also the chapter when these moments happen, post-breakfast and post-casino scene respectively:

and this happens in the very next FTE:

mmm yes, the duality of man. Suffice it to say, while Shuichi has definite rose-coloured glasses on for a lot of the game, Kaito is definitely not an invincible, untouchable hero in his eyes)

Interestingly enough, despite Shuichi still very much leaning into their friendship (and vice versa), they don’t spend a lot of time together in Chapter 3 after he brings Maki out to training that first night! While Chapter 4 is their real ‘break’, Kaito spends a lot of time in his room in the second half while Shuichi gets to know Maki better. And while Maki is a much, uh, meaner investigation partner (love you girl, but that tongue is sharp), they make a great team. Shuichi also starts poking at Kaito’s reason for holing up in his room, incorrectly guess that it’s just related to the occult being brought up. Most importantly, Shuichi is able to do an investigation on his own independent of Kaito just a week after the end of Chapter 1.

Chapter 4 and its immediate aftermath in 5 is great because it showcases Kaito’s flaws and insecurity, and what conflict between the two of them look like. It’s because Kaito respects Shuichi so much that cracks in his own confidence start appearing - and while Shuichi can be obtuse and awkward at times, he shows signs of wanting to broach some more sensitive topics with Kaito; if you do FTEs with Kaito in Ch 4, he even has an inner narrative in which he notes that Kaito had said his stomach hurt before.

He’s not so self-absorbed as to not worry about his friend (but narratively we gotta save that juicy plot point and subsequent reveal for the end of the trial) but hey, Kaito wants to chill and just shoot the shit - so why not have some downtime with his friend in the murder school. Btw, their FTE availability ends here - so if Shuichi has completed them with Kaito, he’s already had his canon-saimota thoughts at this point. While I have given Shuichi the side-eye for his ‘I can rely on Kaito for anything’ spiel, he is fully able and willing to stand up to Kaito in the Chapter 4 trial despite his canon feelings for him at that point. By the way, it’s been a week and a half since the end of Chapter 1 at this point. Shuichi and Kaito have had an arc together where they become fast friends in a pressure-cooker situation and bonding over shared grief for Kaede (even if Kaito’s is less obvious), Shuichi starts as dependent on Kaito’s emotional support but learns to stand on his own two feet, and Kaito is forced to confront his own weakness and hero persona, all while classmates are dropping (including Kaito’s own ex-hero figure, a stark reminder that ‘heroes’ do have flaws).

So the beginning of Chapter 5 is wild to me because of how it’s so often misinterpreted as Kaito immaturely giving Shuichi the silent treatment despite the entirety of the game preceding it explicitly showing that Kaito will tell you, loudly, when he’s angry at you, and that’s purely because we’re in Shuichi’s perspective and he thinks that’s what’s going on - but that’s a bit of a tangent. What I like about it is how we get to see what happens when Kaito (as sick as he is at that point) feels badly and embarrassed with someone he is close to; he withdraws as opposed to lashing out. And while Shuichi is really, really bad at reaching out too without an inciting incident (tunnel escape), he does try and broach the topic when push comes to shove. He’s not lost in hero worship, not even close - he is rightfully upset that the person he’s closest to at the school is upset while still maintaining to himself and the others that his actions were correct. He doesn’t waver on this, despite his attempt to offer an olive branch at the window of the hangar’s bathroom. He truly stands by his own choices in the last class trial and know he won't back down on that if push comes to shove, and that's important - he won't yield the point just to appease Kaito. Shuichi then manages the investigation on his own, leads the trial on his own, faces off with Maki (and who he thinks is Kokichi) on his own, because he has *reached* a point where he can be independent. And to bring it back to how we get a look at ‘saimota in conflict’, Shuichi and Kaito both make amends with each other by the end of the chapter. Even if it’s spurred by it being their final goodbye, Shuichi gets to say his piece, Kaito lays out one of his own vulnerabilities so he can make peace with Shuichi - and even if I’d love to have had them delve into all of Kaito's various issues, there is a very murderous robobear overseeing this which makes time a factor - and I firmly believe that if they had more time, they could’ve resolved even more of the issues that would come up for Saimota. The groundwork wasn’t just there; there was already half the structure in place. And that’s what makes saimota even more appealing to me, tbh. We get to see them build a relationship, run into a big issue, struggle through it and resolve it by the end of the game - and it means that there’s precedent for them to do it again as more interpersonal challenges come up! It’s a goldmine of ship exploration, and they care about each other enough to work through it.

… By the way, at this point they are 2 weeks past the end of Chapter 1.

Imagine if they had more time. Imagine if Shuichi, who is absolutely dogged in pursuing an issue once he catches wind of it (despite how he can get wrapped up in his own head), who cares a lot for other people, who doesn’t just find runaways as part of his detective talent, but follows up with them after because he cares about more than just finishing the job, had the chance to spend years with Kaito and realize he uses his hero persona to protect a much more fragile sense of self. Imagine Shuichi forming that initial friendship with Kaito without the albatross of Kaede’s death hanging around his neck; about how he’ll still look up to Kaito and his fantastic positivity, passion and excellence in his chosen field, and that would only be matched by Kaito’s own admiration of Shuichi’s skills as a detective. Imagine if Kaito, who repeatedly shows the ability to reflect and change his mind when presented with evidence against his viewpoint and was able to express his own insecurity and jealousy to Shuichi in the end, was given the breathing room and space to get more comfortable with doing so. Imagine how difficult and emotionally mature they were to navigate as well as they did in a life-or-death situation that took place over a couple of weeks tops, and how much more they could grow if given the time and space for it.

... And this was nearly going to be where I ended the post, until Ira reminded me of TDP and sent me this wonderful Saimota event (which takes place before the final graduation/training trio event):

Oh hey, Shuichi picked up his catchphrase! It's quite cute how he's finishing Kaito's sentence here - he's spent a couple of years being friends with Kaito at this point, and has even taken up exercising on his own for stress relief. I wonder whose influence that was?

Anyway -

Shuichi has figured out at this point that he does need to firmly extend that helping hand to Kaito rather than worry and keep it to himself. On the other side, Kaito has learned that it is okay to accept that outstretched hand, even if he doesn't need it right now - that he can admit that some day, he might. He's being blase, sure, but it is a far cry from his in-game 'I don't/won't need help'. Good for you, Kaito - you've grown a lot! And that's the most important thing their TDPs show - their capacity for growth not just as individuals, but in a relationship. Of course there will be bumps along the way - it’s very rare that any relationship won’t have them! - but they've proven that they can work these problems in the worst of circumstances. This is by far one of the strongest ships with canon foundation in the entire series, and my goodness do I still love it years later.

#saimota #Kaito Momota #momosai #Shuichi Saihara #Danganronpa v3 #spoilers #drv3 spoilers #saimota.... is good #long drv3 posts in 2021? it's more likely than you think

168 notes · View notes

strxnged · 3 years

Text

BEING THEIR TWIN

-> BOKUTO, TENDOU, + OIKAWA

Content: You’re his twin sister </3 have fun. (Fluff/crack scenarios). ~600 words.

AN: this was different but REALLY FUN TO WRITE LIKE!?!? BEING TENDOU’S TWIN WOULD ACTUALLY BE THE BOMB LMAO

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

✧ Honestly, people don’t even realize that you’re twins when you aren’t together.

✧ You look different — both in hair and in stature. However, you share one thing in common, and that’s your energy.

✧ You and Bokuto are seriously a hazard to society when you’re together. You’re both really not all there, and together you share a total of one brain cell.

✧ Poor Akaashi. He tends to avoid you, because if you and Bokuto are in the same room, he can’t protect both of you.

✧ You always know just what to do when Bokuto is in a downward mood swing, and everyone envies your skills to boost him.

✧ You mercilessly bully Bokuto and bring up embarrassing things from his past when you’re visiting him at practice. You tend to earn small smiles from his teammates, Akaashi giving you a knowing look.

✧ Despite this, Bokuto loves you more than anything, and goes out of his way to brag about you (even though the two of you are quite similar and there isn’t much more to brag about than he’d have about himself).

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　ᴛᴇɴᴅᴏᴜ　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

✧ Oh boy.

✧ Yeah, it’s pretty obvious you’re twins. (It’s the hair.)

✧ Again, when the two of you are together, it gets scary.

✧ You have songs and rhymes that you came up with together, and you bounce the lyrics off of each other at random times of the day. Sometimes, you’re making it up on the spot, but of course no one knows the difference and no one wants to know.

✧ You were the only one that stood up for Tendou in elementary school (bye I’m crying).

✧ You’re also excellent at making fast decisions under pressure. Your reflexes are fantastic.

✧ The team… lowkey hates you. Because two Tendou teens is really overwhelming.

✧ The only person who doesn’t hate you is Ushijima, of course, because he has no reason to. And so you are vaguely nicer to him in return.

✧ You’re pretty, in a unique way. Your eyes have the same hooded, downturned shape that your twin has, giving you a similar sleepy aura. But you’re actually quite energetic, like Tendou. You just… act sleep deprived, sort of like him.

✧ Tendou likes to give you headpats, because you’re shorter than him, as he introduces you to people.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

✧ LMAO YOU ARE NOTHING ALIKE

✧ You’ve had to live with Tooru Oikawa your whole life — now, your attitude is pretty much just “Yeah I’m done with this” all day. Sissss you must be exhausted 😪

✧ You also like bullying your twin for literally everything. Even more than Iwaizumi.

✧ Speaking of Iwaizumi — you and Iwa and Makki and Mattsun are, like, the golden four.

✧ Oikawa got kicked out when they met you. Obviously not actually during games, but when just hanging out, it’s always you and then him tagging along.

✧ You and Iwa are literally the same person sometimes. Like, if you didn’t have the Oikawa appearance, people would definitely assume you were Iwa sister. But people just think you’re his girlfriend. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

✧ Oikawa forces you to let him do your hair. You want to smack him the whole time. But it makes him so happy that you allow it every now and then.

✧ He also steals your clothes. It be like that.

✧ You kinda act like you hate each other, but you also sort of complete each other so… you’re happy he’s in your life, to a certain degree.

✧ Although life at high school would have been much easier if people didn’t ask you all the time if you were related to the great Tooru Oikawa.

AN: Ah that was fun (I’m not very good at crack fics but I tried) I hope it was okay! Thank you anon for your request!

241 notes · View notes

inventors-fair · 2 years

Text

Landslide Victory: Regional contest winners!

Congratulations to @azathoth-the-bored, @gollumni and @dabudder for winning this week's contest!

Let me tell you, this was a rough one for narrowing things down. In the end, I took the cards that, even though they might not have been my mechanical favorites, they did everything right in terms of proper wording, appropriate flavoring, balance, and game feel. That's the only way—because lord knows I'm gonna be gushing a fair amount this week. With some of these runners/judge picks, there's so much to love. Regardless!

@azathoth-the-bored — Urborg Trawler

With Vehicles becoming a part of day-to-day Magic, I love when they show up appropriately on various worlds, and this is no exception. Weatherlight did some awesome Vehicle shenanigans, and now here we are on the island of Urborg with a fantastic Dominarian-flavored boat. I can definitely see what this is doing in the world, and it feels perfectly appropriate. Someone crews through the muck on a muck cruise, and you get your bodies and/or treasure! Totally gets the trawling mood. The flavor text referencing Skulltown... Skulltown, c'mon, Wizards. Anyway. I kinda like how the dockhand is passing off the responsibility. It makes Urborg seem alive, gives it a dynamic. It's subtle but effective for me!

Mechanically, of course, this is an excellent card for this world. Now that Dominaria has its share of artifact-y Historic stuff going for it (or, well, that's what I associate with it), you can play this card as a historic enabler, to get back your other cards, and the expenditure of mana means that you can't immediately abuse it in limited. Later in the game for a sacrifice-y midrange type of deck, it's supremely strong; recursion always is, but you're tempering the recursion with choice. And THAT is excellent card design.

@gollumni — Bassomer Busker

I find myself surprised with this card in a way that's equally enthralling and frustrating. The thing is, it's a perfectly adequate limited card. You have a 2/2 for 3 that doesn't really do anything without Treasures, but you can make it fairly large and swing in and make combat math a touch harder. Or you can use it to crew bigger vehicles, I suppose? There are limited applications in the really powerful environment that New Capenna created. I don't know how much this card would be played, honestly, but I'll say that it feels like it belongs.

So maybe that's it. I want to be ambivalent about this card and I can't. What's the art direction here? Personally, I'm imagining a wild virtuoso that's getting the respected smirks from one side of the crowd and uncomfortable glances from another, with a deco guitar and a tarnished suit and a singing voice like the steam pipes around them. Or maybe an upturned drum set, maybe even a backing raccoon, a small crowd. It's a breath in a world of steel. Giving them money makes them stronger, and that's all there needs to be. I know this contest left a lot of open mechanical space, and I respect the simplicity of your choices, and how they succeeded in making a card that feels...warm. It feels like home in the city.

@dabudder — Skyfang Fall // Skyfang Crevasse

Also in terms of simple mechanics, I'm shocked to see that this kind of specific effect hasn't been done yet. Pinging equal to land ETBs? I mean, you have funny moments like the kind where Scapeshift can slam into a creature, but there were only five cards in ZNR that put land cards directly onto the battlefield, so chances are this is mostly going to be a pinger that's designed for funny shenanigans in other formats. Is that fine? Yeah, I mean, it's fine, it's probably not gonna be in the same set as Spikefield Hazard but this is a contest of concepts and conceptually it's great. The DFC lands were all radically awesome. Also, capitalize the 'a' in 'add' or I'm going to cry.

I like the relationship and the feeling that Nakkem brings to the world. They're a goblin on a mission! The mission is to save your butt so that they get paid. This human's slippage is a misstep but that's all right. There's a minor character here with a minor impact, and once again, the feeling of 'this place is dangerous but kind of fun' comes into the forefront. We really hadn't seen a place like Zendikar before when it first came out, and here's the thing: even though it's an Adventure World, what other "Adventure" worlds were there before it in fantasy? Zendikar is tropical, untamed, a continent of angels and goblins, a living place. What else compares? And getting back into the slices of that world is really what this is about.

More to come! Thank you all for your entries.

@abelzumi

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #winners #commentary #region contest #inventor's fair

8 notes · View notes

kandyrezi · 3 years

Note

Offers you some pocket lint and also a bag of chocolate buttons and an actual button or two

Can I get some uhhhhhh Yandere Ziki stuff?

—esurient;

pairing: yandere!ziki x reader

warnings: dismemberment, amputation, blood & gore

(a/n: I have no idea what on earth I’m supposed to do with those assortment of items you just electronically gifted me, but thank you anyway -

- yeah, not me thinking to myself upon seeing this ask ‘who tf is ziki?’ ……. OH, THE MOUTH WITCH. moment of enlightenment after that. (there are some bonus headcanons as well at the bottom of this fic! <3))

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

SHE DIPS HER FINGERS into the crimson stain, placing the blood-stained digits on her tongue, identifying the one it belongs to. Unmistakable, no doubt. Her lover's blood isn't as tasty as some of the others' she's consumed – but it's inconsequential. The taste bears no meaning in comparison to the adoration she feels for the one who brightened up her world like no one else ever has.

(she remembers the look in your eyes – lost and confused – the very look you gazed at her with the first time when she spotted you.)

The blood splatters leave her darling's scent lingering, yet they themselves are nowhere to be found – most likely having somehow wandered off to somewhere. You must have hurt yourself, as she doesn't remember you bleeding when she'd left you on your lonesome.

(she fell in love with you the day she'd met you.)

It's too bad no one in this world will come to your aid, not like she did when she first met you. The other witches are all selfish and only acting in their own self-interest.

(not wanting to lose someone so precious and wanting to consummate your love, she took you back to her little place of residence hidden away in the witch world.)

Finding you is laughably easy when you didn't even make it very far in the first place; you're awfully noisy and the tongues on her body have excellent taste receptors. One of the mouths on her braided hair maims you in the thigh, hardly a challenge at all as you're still drowsy from your escape— rather, your impolite, unannounced departure. As you look up at your pursuer hovering on her broom with your one still-intact eye, instead of ghostly white, her eyes shine a captivating yellow much like the mysterious sphere resting in the skies.

You must have seen her then for who she really was.

A witch of hunger and rage.

She didn't want to inject you with her venom. Weaker creatures such as yourself were easily susceptible to it and would likely die from it ("cardiac arrest" Ptomain had described it as) as opposed to becoming immobilised.

You are not the human who had the prettiest lilac eyes who escaped from the mansion of a vampire lord. You are not the leopard seal girl with broken fangs she came across beached on an island.

But you're you, and that's all she cares about.

. . .

The source of light provided by a stream of orange glow from the skies reflected off of the leaves from the trees yet the bright hues do nothing in ways of giving comfort. It could be pitch black and your heart would threaten to beat out of your chest from terror in equal measure.

You're partially blind due to your missing left eye and your surroundings are alien to you. Never would you have willingly entered a maze of unknown woods, yet at this moment you're desperate. You wish some ghastly beast would emerge from from the underground to devour you right then and there to simply end it so you wouldn't have to endure it – anything at all to avoid the deadly clutches of Ziki.

The soles of your feet no doubt have developed callouses and your toes burn from how long you've been running while avoiding getting your ankle stuck in vines or treading on one of the many-eyed endemic snakes. You momentarily lean your weight onto a (hopefully) harmless tree trunk with your dismembered, two-fingered hand.

The wind blows, howling right next to your ear, causing a tremor of shivers to trail down your spine. You feel like you're being taunted, watched with a calculating gaze – you push yourself upright and are ready to sprint (to your death if you have to), but it only takes you less than a second—

The jolt of sharp pain in your thigh forces you to freeze up like an icicle as the painful sensation rapidly spreads through your body. You fall into the dirt with no way to brace yourself with painful collision. something (but you know it's in fact, a someone) has bitten you in the leg and the juncture above your ankle is maimed next.

Ziki might not be hunting you for the purpose of killing you (—or so she's claimed) yet obviously natural predator-prey instincts kick in when the one being hunted down isn't so keen on allowing the one doing the hunting to sink their sharp, sawtooth-like tusk into your thigh so she can't let you get away. Especially now when one of her twin-tail mouths latch on to and break through muscle and tissue, the stream of red running down your leg creating another warm shade of color to paint the woods with. You're too weak to struggle much due to injuries you've sustained back at the witch's residence and on the run, and the fight ends before it can even begin.

You slip in and out of consciousness many times – the words shifts and moves around you, but you aren't sure where you ended up, not until after you wake up again.

The braided witch is saying something but you can't make out all the words.

"Neither your eye... your fingers... enough."

Were you really taken back...?

"It seems... you still don't... the conjoin of our love, so..."

What is this lunatic saying?!

"...Zi-Ziki..."

Your head barely becomes clearer yet it still hurts, you realize it when you feel the tight hold of belts strapping you to a familiar chair by your ankles and shoulders. It must be her kitchen. Where she keeps her jars and other glass containers full of substances you don't want to know about. The herbs and flowers hanging from the walls can't block out the stench you feel oozing from them. You can't really see her, but a smile on her face was normally her default expression, so it's far from a stretch to assume so.

"But I'm not complaining," Ziki keeps on talking, "Not when the meat from your flesh is so... tender. I've been keeping you well-fed and nourished, you can thank Ptomain for giving me some tips. Not sure how she knows so much about the health of your kind, but..."

She leans forward to hold your hand with farce tenderness, her other fingers stroking the outlines of the veins on your wrist below.

"...it's good that you're here now! After this, you'll tell me how much you feel the same way that I do for you~! Don't worry, I won't let you die. A witch's promise."

All the mouths on her body open to showcase their sharp teeth right in front of you. you vaguely register her biting your arm off from the elbow with the mouth on her face while the rest hold your body still to keep you from struggling. It's not a clean bite – she twists and yanks as your bones crack and shatter while tissues come apart under her immense strength. It all happens in less than a few seconds yet your nerves are on fire and you can't remember screaming or crying or pleading – nothing – as your body forces itself into unconsciousness from shock and agony.

You pray you won't wake up again after this time.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

• Ziki has a desire to consume a part of her lover so they're with her always - probably a body part like fingers, an entire limb, earlobe, or an eye (rarely) - possibly keeps some in a jar as well. She "falls in love" easily but is unable to "keep them"for long because she becomes too overzealous in her treatment of them.

• She hates it when her darling runs away from her. It's enough to make her lose her composure and almost kill them when she finds them again - it's mainly a stroke of luck when she doesn't violently lash out at the moment of seeing them.

• Despite how much of a whacko she is, she is actually strategic when it comes to anatomy and knows best places to injure to keep a darling immobile or crippled.

• Ziki doesn't have any healing abilities like some of the other witches. If her darling were a human, they would most likely end up dying from the injuries which she inflicted.

• She is kept under careful watch of the Great Witch to make sure she doesn't go overboard but will sometimes turn a blind eye if it's some stray, weak human (since they don't usually survive under the harsh conditions of PBW anyway).

• While she will otherwise go for anyone, she has a bit of a fetish for humans in particular because she likes how frail and docile they are.

• Feels lonely since the death of her familiar (not caused by her). This might correlate with her desire to keep a plaything to fill in that void (...or it might not).

• The mouths on her body can open and eat things, but can speak with only the one on her face.

• Ziki is friends with Ptomain and Kagimori. Since they can do types of witchcraft that fundamentally differ from one another, Ptomain has given her tips on medical care and health without the need for magic usage. Kagimori sometimes complains about the mess from blood stains on the hardwood floors of Ziki's cottage when she goes in for a visit.

• Her eyes change color depending on her mood; her pupils are pure white when she's feeling more docile, but they turn yellow when her emotions become intense and she feels them strongly.

• Aside from her appetite for flesh, she also likes mandarin oranges.

- - -

(a/n: ziki is literally a blank slate with just a visual appearance, so I got a little creative with her in ways you normally can't with established characters. I wrote the headcanons while i was trying to figure out her personality for just myself initially, but then decided to share them anyway.)

#yandere x reader #funamusea #mogeko #okegom #yandere #deep-sea prisoner #dsp #female yandere #ziki (mogeko)#yanderecore #ficlets

60 notes · View notes

fic-dumpster · 3 years

Text

Ghost Omi is taking a semi-hiatus. It doesn't apply to my collabs! Those are the only ones I’ll be working on.

I decided to write this to make it official^^

Forgot to add, but Moots can still call me just Omi 💜🫂

Also, I’ve been meaning to talk about this thing that’s been bothering me for quite a while. (my first moots might know for long this has been bothering me xD).

I’m going to take a rest, a pause with Deer in headlights. (not for my collabs). Just to clarify.

First of all, I know it might sound dumb to some, but I believe other content creators can understand my point. When a new story by someone (who has been on your notification before) shares similarities to a variety of your old pieces. SO! There have been some stories that I've seen that aren't precisely copying DIH, but the structure/development of some chapters, some words, titles, the mood, etc., etc. The resemblances are there, at least for me, and it's taking a great deal on my mental health. Why? Because I rather blame myself for writing such common things than accuse someone of copying. It's not playing the victim. It's stupidly believing in someone and being afraid of making the mistake of calling them out for something that might not be there. Between other stuff... Yeah. But my feelings, for me, are valid. So, I’m doing what I think is best and saving myself the stress and just stopping.

Wait. No, I'm not saying that someone isn’t allowed to write a bonten x reader harem because there are many! LOTS of writers that do so, wonderfully, may I add, without giving me this creepy copycat feeling. Besides, it’s a widespread trope. Hehe.

So, in light of the shadowban, I decided that it’s an excellent opportunity for a rest! Of course, I will answer questions whenever I have the chance and still do drabbles if I feel like it. Because not writing at all? XD I physically can’t.

One last thing, I’m very grateful for all the love everyone here has shown that series that wasn't supposed to be a series. 😤💕 You are as important as the writer. At least in my case! As many might know, fic-dumpster was not a writing blog. I only came here to dump wips with nice aesthetics, and then I would leave and never use this blog again. But then the WIPs of meeting Mikey and meeting Sanzu were liked/rb/commented, and I said why not? If these 3 or 4 ppl that commented nice things :3, want to know what happens next, I said, again, why not? Now we stand with 50 something posts 😬. AND I know my writing is... not the best; English is not my first language, I lack a lot in my areas, so I want to thank yall for this unspoken agreement of I-pretend-I-do-not-see-grammar/spelling-mistakes. 😂💕😂 you’re the real MVPs, okay? 🫂💕

P.s. There is one last DIH chapter in my drafts. I will post it... Next week? Prob? When I stop crying 😂💕.

#omi.update #announcement #just to make things official #pls now call me ghost omi #😂💕#also I’m playing Pokémon 🧍🏻‍♀️

31 notes · View notes

brekkerism · 4 years

Text

BASIC INSTINCT (Part 1 - A Spencer Reid Series)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: (Y/N) has recently joined the bau through non conventional and rather privileged means. Couple that with a dark and troubled past, all she really wants is a fresh start. What she didn’t predict getting in her way of that, was one Special Agent Dr Spencer Reid. She thinks it’s hopeless and he’ll hate her forever. That is, until she sees Dr Reid on a rather...unusual place.

A/n: I kinda can’t believe this is my first Spencer Reid/Criminal minds fic. I’ve been obsessed for so long but I never got the courage to post anything. Well, we’ll see how this one goes. I really do hope all of you enjoy this, since I’m planning to make it multi chapters and I’m too in love to abandon it! Forgive me for not giving y’all the smut right away but good things come to those who are patient! And also huge thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins for being such a wonderful human and helping me beta this first one. Shout out to all the lovely people in the discord for encouraging me enough to write this. And also for my sweet liv, bc if she didn’t like this I would def not have posted.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Word count: 2320

Rating: R-no actual hard smut. For now.

Content warning: 12+ years age gap, description of bdsm scenes and play, swear words, brief fingering

*********

Since the first day I stepped in the bau, I knew Dr.Spencer Reid would not like me one bit.

Call it a gut feeling, a hunch, or maybe my justified pessimism.

I knew the moment my dad told me, fresh out of the academy and not even slightly experienced at 24 years old, that I ‘mysteriously’ got a generous offer for a job with one of the best teams the FBI had to offer, that I wasn’t going to be liked by a lot of people. Because it wasn’t a mystery how I got the position. It was actually really plain and simple, and could be boiled down to one word:

Nepotism

I didn’t ask for it; I didn’t want it (no matter how much I actually wanted the position, but by my earning it on my own merits), but I completely understood something like this was likely to happen. I knew it the moment I moved back home and decided that the only thing worthwhile I really wanted to do was join the FBI. My dad was a good guy who was just trying to help me, his intentions were just a little misguided. It happens.

What doesn’t ‘just’ happen is that my dad is the deputy director of the FBI. His helping me was ‘making calls’ and ‘pulling strings’, which instantly gives my peers every reason to doubt every achievement I have.

But I was completely ready for it.

What I wasn’t ready for is for everyone on the team to be normal and so welcoming to me, like I was any other agent. It was everything I wanted.

Well, everyone did that except him. I couldn’t figure it out why, but from the first minute he turned those eyes towards me, looking me up and down but never quite reaching my eyes, I could feel the scrutiny under the stare. Almost like he was saying “Really? This is it?”.

But with a blink it was gone, and he turned away from me and put his attention to the book in his hand so fast I almost thought I imagined the whole thing.

But I knew, I knew I saw it. And I knew that even if I didn’t want it, my body and brain would spend days trying to make him acknowledge me again, to look me up and down again, to try and prove to him what I’ve been trying to prove to everyone:

I deserved to be there. I could earn it by myself. I just need the chance to do it.

And so, my journey to try to not only be useful but a valuable agent, someone he would have to notice began.

And it was shit.

Everyone was so willing not only to teach me, but to listen to my input.

Luke always had my back, both of us being the newbies in the team. JJ and Tara were always open to listening to theories, doubts and rambling, besides being totally badass inspirations. Penelope always had a eager and friendly attitude that could comfort me immediately, and she welcomed me with open arms. Emily and Rossi were patient, while also pushing me to be so much better, and being the best mentors they could be.

None of them even seemed to have even a passing thought of giving me special treatment or harsher judgment. It was almost perfect.

If it wasn’t for Special Fucking Agent Doctor Reid. He wouldn’t even be an asshole towards me, oh no, It was much, much worse. He ignored me.

He was almost happy to pretend I didn’t even exist. Of course there were situations that he couldn’t avoid socializing, as minimal as it was, but it was like he was talking to a wall. He looked at me like he was surprised that I was even there. He wouldn’t acknowledge me unless he was made to. He wouldn’t even correct me when I was wrong. At this point I was sure that I could be screaming bloody murder at him and he wouldn’t take his eyes off whatever he was doing.

It was the most frustrating and irritating thing that has ever happened to me. It made my blood boil over. It made me cry with sorrow.

And I couldn’t even figure out why. I didn’t know what it was that made me crazy because Spencer Reid wouldn’t look my way.

So I did what every angry and frustrated normal young adult does.

I went to a sex dungeon to drink my mixed feelings away and watch BDSM scenes. Duh.

Even though I wasn’t going there to play, and I thought I would never be able to play again, it was still a safe place for me. A place where I could see people that once knew the real me and provided a place free of any judgement. People who didn’t know who I was outside of those walls, who thought of me as just another person in that safe and different little world.

It also helped that watching, as much as it wasn’t my preference before, was the only thing that could properly get me off these days. And after everything, I thought I still deserved the ability to enjoy some parts of it.

And so, after saying my goodbyes to Pen, JJ amd Emily, and finding flimsy excuses not to join them at the bar for Friday drinks, I hopped the elevator, wondering how long would it take me to get properly dressed and drive across town, and if I was going to be able to call more of my old friends.

But all my happy thoughts of getting to immerse myself on a world I still loved were immediately clouded when a hand stopped the elevator and went in with me. His hand.

Great, just the perfect ending to an shitty day. A awkward elevator ride with Spencer Reid. And as always, he didn’t bother to acknowledge me, even though it was just the two of us riding down.

I was trying so hard to be in a good mood; to ignore the shitty end to a shittier case and go somewhere where I could try to be happy. But I just had to be met with his silence, his awkwardness, his existence in general. I didn’t want to feel like that today. So before I could stop myself, I did something stupid

“So, what are your plans for the weekend, Doctor?”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid. Like he would voluntarily participate in small talk with me, something he already didn’t like, with someone he didn’t even bother to not like.

“I think I’m going to go to a party with a friend today.”

Now that took me by surprise. No short replies? No one syllable answers? He actually told me something out of his own free will? He engaged in small talk?!

“O-oh? I didn’t know you were one for partying... like, at all. Which friend are you going with? Do I know him?”

Talk to me. Keep engaging in small talk, please.

“You don’t really know me well enough to judge if I am one for partying or not, now, do you? And you definitely wouldn’t know her. I don’t only hang out with people on our team, contrary to popular belief.”

Well that was extremely uncalled for. And rude. I thought that it was the first time he ever referred to me as part of the team, but that was an small detail to analyze later.

“No need to be defensive or rude, I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t.”

He was back to having that stupid blank expression on his face, back to not dignifying me with a proper answer, and that just wouldn’t do, would it?

I had a response. I had an excellent, spectacular comeback to use, but before I could actually defend myself in any way, the elevator dinged open. He couldn’t get out fast enough.

It was infuriating. So I did the only reasonable thing:

I followed him to his car to give him a piece of my mind.

Because of those immensely long legs, he almost got there quick enough to drive away and avoid me, but I would not let my stubby short legs get in the way.

I got my hand in before he could close his door, much like he did with the elevator. He still refused to look up at me but, the cheer disbelief and confusion on his face was enough of a response. Can’t ignore me now, asshole.

“You know, the only reason I don’t know anything about you, is because you pretend like I don’t exist. So don’t be needlessly rude to me. It’s better to keep not saying anything at all.”

And there it was. It was just tip of the iceberg, but at least I acknowledged it. I could actually feel a smirk forming on my face.

“Remove your hand please.”

And he finally looked up at me. All the disbelief and annoyance on his face were gone, replaced by that utterly bored and blank stare.

I actually wanted to scream. How was this the same guy that couldn’t stop talking and rambling enthusiastically about any and everything to anyone, the same person who had a perfect smile and warmth on his eyes for everyone else. How.

It was too frustrating. So I stepped back, removing my hand from his car door and walking towards my own car. It was better to just let it end already so I can wallow in my humiliation over this failed attempt at confrontation.

It almost put me in a bad enough mood that I didn’t want to go to the ‘club,’ but I had already promised Amara, who was not only one of my best friends but also happened to be dating that particular BDSM dungeon’s Mistress. There was no getting out even if I wanted to.

And I didn’t really want to.

****

A hour and dress change later, I was ready to go. This was absolutely nothing like the old outfits I used to wear for this events, but then again, I wasn’t the same girl. Not entirely.

So I opted for a silky black dress with a cowl neck and the best heels I had. It was sexy enough for a night of normal clubbing, but rather tame for a night at a dungeon. It was exactly what I wanted. It was less likely in that type of dungeon for anybody to approach or proposition me if I didn’t look experienced and in my element.

Even if I secretly was.

So I got ready, took my time to properly breathe, and left everything that wasn’t this night or positive thoughts behind the locked door of the apartment. I could come back to them later.

Right now, I was going to be happy and have fun.

*****

I was not having fun anymore. It was unfortunate, and I felt like somehow that this had to be the bad mood I was in from a particular encounter earlier. I just couldn’t find anything that excited me the way I wanted it to. I had made the rounds with Amara, and she had showed me all of the new rooms and new toys before every space got occupied with busy couples and groups.

It was beyond fun exploring before the spaces were being actually used, and imagining what each person would get out of those rooms. It was a pleasant and happy feeling.

But soon enough the dungeon got filled with more and more people, and each room was occupied and used. Most were open for all that wanted to watch, but each scene I passed failed to get my attention. It was especially more daunting and lonely when Amara left to put on a show with her girlfriend in the main room.

And as pretty and wonderful as they looked, I just didn’t feel like watching a couple as in love as Amara and Celeste performing tonight. It was just... a little too much for me. After everything, most loving was.

No, what I was looking for was not that. I was looking for the thing I used to crave. The thing that used to keep me going at all times of the day.

I was looking for fucking. Not couples making love, not couples having sex, not pet play, not elaborate scenes or people using toys so strange and complicated I couldn’t make out what was what.

I was looking for someone completely fucking dominating their partner.

It shouldn’t be impossible to find. Not on a Friday night, and not in a club this good.

And I did. I finally found it.

The dom had his back to the audience and the door with the little window I was watching through. He was turned toward his sub standing on the side while she spread her legs on the bed, her hands tied up to the headboard, showing her pussy to the audience along the wall. It was the perfect scene for me. In fact, too perfect.

She even looked a little like me, in fact. Same build, similar hair. It got me even more excited to watch this through. I took a deep breath and finally opened the door. Stepping in, I leaned against the door, having a direct view to the bed.

And god did I want to watch.

The dom still had his back to us,but I wasn’t watching him. Rather, I watched the girl’s cunt and how he was fingering it, not saying anything for her or us yet.

He has really nice hands.

Really, really nice. In fact I don’t think I’ve seen such nice hands since –

Not the time!

The girls face looked rather blissful, and I imagined three of those pretty and long fingers should be doing just the trick for her.

But then she did something that displeased him.

She moaned. Loudly.

The sound was immediately followed by a sharp slap in her face.

Fuck, that made me wet.

But before I could even entertain the idea of getting my hands inside my panties, the dom spoke.

He spoke in a voice I almost never heard directed towards me, but could pick out in any crowd.

He spoke in the voice of the man that made me so mad I almost didn’t come to the club in the first place.

“Are my fingers inside you too much? Cause I’ll fucking stop if you can’t obey and stay quiet.”

And I froze. I froze and panicked and had to stop myself from screaming by bringing a hand up to my mouth.

Because that was Spencer Reid, in a BDSM dungeon, dominating a girl right in front of me.

Taglist: @imagining-in-the-margins @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @gretaamyk @prettyricky187 @sunlight-moonrise @fanficlibrary82 @blazinvixen @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @httpnxtt @reidetic @hyper-fxation @blushingspencer @reidlusts @wishingwellwriting @redbullchick

I feel like I missed a lot of peeps but please know I’m still thankful ma loves

2K notes · View notes

mithrilhearts · 2 years

Note

I’m just going to dive right in and say the Onion 👀

THE ONION!!! Oh my gosh, this is going to be so much fun! @stardryad-random and I have put together two big playlists for this fic already, and now to trim it down to a soundtrack like this? EXCELLENT, but tough. Great choice, my friend!

A Soundtrack for When Darkness Shines Brightest

3 Character Intro Songs

Shades and Shadows: Peter Gundry Star and I dubbed this as “Thorin’s Theme” for this fic a long time ago, and it has stuck ever since. It’s a perfect fit, and much like the rest of Peter’s work that is in these playlists of ours, it captures the somber attitude amazingly. It also gives me some small “Jack’s Lament” vibes, which, if you’ve been following this fic from the beginning, there are some loose TNBC elements here!

A Little Place Called Home: Adrian Von Ziegler This was dubbed as “Bilbo’s Theme” long ago as well! It’s a soft little tune that captures him, as well as his environment in a big contrast to that of Thorin. Also, I can say, you should be listening to this when we meet Bilbo, it just fits the scene so perfectly. When will that be? Soon.

Black Heart: BrunuhVille Oh man, we’re so excited to feature Arvinur (our young OC dwarf!) here in this one! This is a theme we decided fit him perfectly, which will be touched base on more later on in the fic, but it has this somber ‘music box’ style tune that really attaches to his character and what he’s lost.

2 Lyricless “Mood” Songs

When Darkness Shines Brightest: Peter Gundry This one I feel is pretty self explanatory, it’s where we got the fic title from after a LOT of time looking. Also, Peter Gundry is a HUGE part of our “instrumental playlist” for this fic, the mood is just so PERFECT. It’s dark and somber and paints a perfect picture for the main setting of this fic - Erebor.

Tick Tock Goes the Clock: Jo Blankenburg Another theme for Erebor, but a far cry from what we’ve heard so far. It’s more fun and a nod to what the mountain used to be, as well as what lays within!

1 Villain/Conflict Song

Close In The Distance: Pealeaf, Chewie Melodies For any of my fellow FFXIV fans, you will absolutely recognize this one! And for those who don’t know the game, give it a listen, the song is just beautiful, and it occurred to me later on that it really fit a big conflict within the fic. I happily dragged Star into it too, and it’s just an emotional piece that I associate with a very big turning point that we’ll see later on. Enjoy!

4 Scene Songs

Fading Light: Aviators I wouldn’t say this is a specific scene song, but it’s a great theme for the fic overall. I would say it’s also a great “credits scene” song ahaha, if such a thing existed for fics!! One of my personal favorites when it comes to this fic.

Guiding Light: Mumford & Sons This song really fits the Thorin & Bilbo dynamic, though it is more relevant after a few chapters of the fic. I don’t want to touch base on it too much because we’re not that far in the fic (published, anyway ehehe).

Will the Sun Ever Rise: Five Finger Death Punch I associate this song a LOT with Thorin and his current situation within Erebor, being unhappy about the state of things. This is also a great song for when the full extent of his history and plight are brought to light against someone who has had it far easier than he..

Once Upon A Dream: Lana Del Rey This scene absolutely holds importance for a scene later on that Star and I have gushed over. I can’t talk about it yet, but just...listen to it and imagine for yourselves.

Send me any of my fics and I’ll give you a soundtrack!

#raz answers #sunnyrosewritesstuff #ask game #weekend wips #starzzy collabs #fic music #fic: when darkness shines brightest

7 notes · View notes

jadedxrealityw · 4 years

Text

-Fragile- George Weasley x Female Reader

☼-☪-☼

Kody: I know another George x reader, fight me. This is based around the quote “She was not fragile like a flower, she was fragile like a bomb” -Rahul Singh Rathour.

Summary: George Weasley falls for a Slytherin girl who was an expert at keeping her negative emotions hidden. He was her little light at Hogwarts and kept her sane for the most part. Until one day when she’s pushed over the edge.

House: Slytherin

Possible Triggers / Warnings: mental breakdowns, child neglect, manipulation, shit parents, panic attacks.

☼-☪-☼

She was not fragile like a flower, she was fragile like a bomb

maybe you should have seen a therapist when you were little. Bottling up emotions was considered self destructive by most sane people, but it had become second nature. Growing up with parents who were always fighting, you just learned to keep things to yourself, so you weren’t a burden.

it was odd, despite all the shit you were put through, you were still kind. You were still yourself. You found comfort in fellow housemates like Draco Malfoy. You avoided him since he seemed like a snob, plus he was younger then you, but all that changed once you found him crying in a broom closet.

the school year had only just started and he explained to you that his parents had been bickering with each other the whole time while shopping for new books. You didn’t speak a word of your family to him because you felt like it would take attention from his problem. You didn’t want to be selfish

you and Draco soon became friends after that, but even as you two grew closer you never told him about your problems. You continued to bottle things up, which didn’t make much sense, since you had someone to confide to, maybe you had gotten so used to hiding your inner demons.

you had heard of the Weasleys, pureblood family who had a lot of children. All of them different in so many ways, but exactly the same. The one who had caught your attention was George Weasley. Him and his brother were always up to something that involved a potion.

lucky for you, you were always brewing a potion when you had freetime. Due to all the stress and not having a way to let it go, you would make yourself a draught of peace to keep your emotions in order. it worked for the most bit, it only lasted a couple hours so you only took it during classes.

☼-☪-☼

6th Year

you were stirring your elixir with a utensil when the creaking sound of the door opening caught your attention. You look from the cauldron and towards two ginger haired twins that were giggling and whispering things to each other that you couldn’t hear.

“Alright you grab the stuff we need- oh”

both of them had looked up at you, freezing in there spots. “I’m guessing you're not supposed to be in here?” you spoke, going back to stirring. They both looked at each other before Fred Weasley spoke up “Your not going to say anything are you?”

you simply shrug your shoulders before placing the utensil on the table “I could care less, as long as you don’t say anything either” you say. The both of them grin before Fred goes to the cupboards to gather his needed ingredients, leaving you with George.

he casually steps over to you and leans over your shoulder to look into your cauldron. He didn’t have to lean at all actually, he was much taller then you. “A draught of peace? Feeling stressed lately?” he questions, cocking his head to the side in a curious manner.

stressed was an understatement , but he didn’t know that “Something like that” you respon, figuring if you gave him a vague answer he’d take that as a sign to leave you alone. George only seemed more curious “How mysterious” he mumbles lowly to himself before leaving you to your potion.

eventually you fill up about five vials full of potion and put your cauldron back in it’s respective area. Once you pocket the vials, you leave the twins to there mischievous task and you were on your way. That was your first encounter with George Weasley.

☼-☪-☼

five vials only lasted you a week, so later on a friday night you snuck out of your dorm and into the potions classroom. You had on a grey hoodie, black leggings, and fuzzy white socks, something you wore to sleep in. It was comfortable.

today was especially stressful for you because most of the Slytherin house was irritated, which meant they were short with there words and snappy. The twins had pulled a prank on the Slytherin house by leaving pastries for them inside the dungeon.

the Hufflepuffs would usually leave treats for Slytherins so it wasn’t strange, but it was actually a spiked cauldron cake that turned their hair different colors. You were one of the lucky ones since you had woken up late, never getting the chance to eat one.

once you entered the classroom, you were met with a ginger boy. George Weasley, the twin who kept his orange locks shoulder length. It was how anyone really told the difference between the two. Fred cut his long ago and George had not, pretty simple.

“Oh, you again. Hello” he spoke before going back to chopping up some ingredient. His casual tone ticked you off more than you’d like to admit and you just scoffed, going to collect your items. The wizard seem to notice your behaviour “Bad day?”

you grab the cauldron from the shelf, exhaling deeply “Yes actually. After the stunt you pulled on Slytherin” you reply, irritation seeping into your tone. A very cocky grin made a way onto his freckled face “Oh? Then maybe you shouldn’t have started it”

your grip of the cauldron tightened. Any tighter and you might smash it to pieces. Placing the cauldron down harshly, you turn your head to face him “Look whatever feud you have with a couple Slytherins isn't my damn problem, mess with them not the collective house. It’s rude”

as soon as you finished speaking you put your face in your hands. So much for not stressing out. You shake your head a bit to push away any remaining thoughts then go back to what you were doing, collecting whatever you needed. George on the other hand looked a mix between guilt and confusion.

he felt guilty because it was true, he could have just pranked the two or three Slytherins he was initially after, but he didn’t. He was confused because you had blew up on him so quickly, almost like you were holding it in for so long that it was waiting to be let out?

“i guess i got carried away this time. I apologize- wait what’s your name?” George suddenly asked, realizing he didn’t know who you were exactly. All he could guess was that you were Slytherin by your previous statements, which surprised him a bit since you seemed....nicer.

once you were settled at a table you looked up at the 6′3 boy “Y/n, i accept your apology, George Weasley” you say then look back down at the table. George lets out a small chuckle “I guess i don’t need to tell you my name then. I must be very popular then” You couldn’t help but snicker at his smugness.

“yeah i guess you are”

☼-☪-☼

7th Year

and ever since the beginning of sixth year, you’d meet George and sometimes Fred in the potions classroom to chat while you made potions. You loved the times you could hang out with twins, they always made you laugh when you had a bad day.

but you cherished the times you got George alone. you just connected with him a different way. Whenever you worked on a potion he would push your hair out of your face or stand behind you, looking over you shoulder. The small touch sent ripples through you that you had never felt before.

at first you thought maybe it was because you had thought of him as your friend, but whenever Draco or Fred had touched you you didn’t feel anything. Soon enough he started his casual flirting which included him complimenting your looks or how good you looked in a certain outfit.

it made your face feel hot and your stomach feel all queasy like you had bug or something, but you were never actually sick. After searching the library for possible answers you overheard Hermione Granger talking to Ginny Weasley, they were talking about what they felt when a certain guy talked to them.

increase in heart rate, sweaty palms, queasy stomach, etc. Then they said one thing that changed your perspective “Don’t you hate being in love with someone, it’s so heart wrenching” you spent the rest of that day in your dorm room stressing out like usual, but this time is wasn’t over your parents.

now you had two things on your mind, your parents and George. A weird mix for sure. You were in love with George? How could this of happened? but you knew exactly how this happened, that Weasley twin used his charms and good looks to seduce you.

what a bloody menace.

now you were sitting at the Slytherin table in the great hall. Draco sat next to you, chatting it up with Blaise and his boyfriend Theo. You were just about to take another bite of food when an owl, a familiar owl flew over the table. It had a letter in its claws.

once it passed over you it dropped the letter. You reach up and catch it in your hands “Ooo a letter” Draco comments, wiggling his eyebrows like a dork. You roll your eyes playfully and nudge his shoulder. He chuckles and turns back to face Blaise once again.

you turn the letter in your hands, the wax stamp catching your attention. It was the initial of your last name, which meant it was from your parents. Great. You pop off the wax seal and slip it into your robe pocket before taking the sheet of parchment out of the envelope.

‘Dear Y/n, your father and i have read your recent grades and we are utterly disappointed. You’ve only gotten an Acceptable in all your classes. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have a child who can not excel in anything? your the reason me and your father have been bickering so often. For the upcoming break you will be staying at Hogwarts and studying everyday and night. We also found a journal in your room with all the horrible lies you write about us. Don’t come back until you learn how to be a grateful daughter’

well that killed the mood. Why did they read your diary? What kind of parent does that? Was it really all your fault that your parents fought? “Aw poor Y/n? Do mommy and daddy not love you anymore? How does is feel princess?” you had almost forgotten that you were sitting next to her.

she was a Slytherin girl who didn’t like you because you weren’t a pureblood and because your parents only acted like they cared so much about you in public. You figured out quickly she was jealous of what she thought that you had, loving parents.

you neglected saying anything back to because you heard that her father was locked up in Azkaban a little while ago and admittedly felt bad for her, but for some reason the way she said it. The way she was so smug with her words just rubbed you the wrong way.

your whole life you’ve let every negative thought fester and build up like a disease. It was like a pot of boiling water that was about to bubble over and spill out. You hadn’t taken any draught of peace either in a couple hours because lunch was usually peaceful for you.

this poor girl was going to get the anger you’ve held since you were a child and you would feel guilty for it later, but the lid on your metaphorical bottle had popped off. You stood up from your seat and looked down at her, surprising her and Draco.

“Listen here you stuck up bitch, i can’t fathom a reason as to why you have to fuck with with me constantly?! You think this shit is a one time thing?!” you stop momentarily to throw the letter at her face. She swats it away, her face draining of color from embarrassment.

“Try living with them for 17 years and then you’ll figure out that they only act like your family in public! They send you huge gifts on your birthday to make sure other people see! You have no right to harass me like you do! I wish i had loving parents!”

the girl sat there stunned. What could she say anyway? That she was sorry probably, but you most likely wouldn’t have accepted that answer at the moment. You had caught everyone's attention at this point with your loud, harsh words. Even the bright honey colored eyes of George focused on you.

angry tears had forced their way out your E/c eyes despite your efforts in trying to hold them in. You look around the great hall, looking at all the eyes staring back at you. Without a second thought you rush out the great hall, hearing two distinct voices shout for you to come back.

☼-☪-☼

breathe

breathe!

why was it so hard to breathe? Were your clothes tightening or were the lungs in your chest failing on you. You rush outside into the empty courtyard, gripping your robe to tug it away from your skin almost as if it was choking you. You start to pull at your clothes more.

you remove your arms from the sleeves of your robe and drop it on the grass beneath you. Still couldn’t breathe. Reaching for the bottom of your vest you slip it up and over your head and drop it on top on your robe. Lastly, you tug at your tie to loosen it.

you were still hyperventilating.

“Y/n?”

turning around you saw the familiar honey colored eyes look down at you. A face of confusion and sadness n his freckled face. George Weasley. No, please you would only complicate your emotions more, but you wanted so badly to be his embrace at the moment.

he decided for you, cause as soon as he saw your tears. He felt his heart tug harshly.

“Oh darling” he started, his voice broken and raspy like he was about to break out in tears as well “Come here” he finished and held his arms out for you and that was enough for you. You rush into his embrace and are instantly meant with calming scent of burning wood, and wood from a broomstick.

your wheezing noise worried George and he started to rub your head “Darling you need to breathe okay? Your going to faint if you keep doing that, in and out okay?” he inhales loudly so you could hear and you copy his actions, doing the same when he exhaled.

after a couple minutes you were breathing just fine, but you still felt terrible. “Everything's all my fault. i tried so hard to be a good person, but it’s never good enough. I didn’t burden anyone with my problems and hid them away- i just couldn’t do it anymore”

your voice cracked, the lump in your throat going away. George pulled his head away that was resting on top of your hand and used one of his hands to gently force your chin up to look at him. He used the other hand to reach in his back pocket.

George pulls out the same folded parchment that you had read earlier “This? You believe this rubbish? Y/n you are the most interesting girl i’ve ever met and i wish you had told me about this. I’m your..friend and i want to help you. Listen, you are strong, brave, and anybody would be lucky to just breathe your air”

you cracked a small smile at his words which seemed to make his face light up as well. “Thank you George. I suddenly feel very faint” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Probably from crying so much darling. Let me take care of you for the rest of the day, okay?”

“Do i really have a choice?”

“Not really, no”

☼-☪-☼

George took you to his dorm- oh wait. he actually carried you to his dorm. He didn't want you to actually faint and hit your ‘pretty little head’ on the hard floor. His words exactly. The rest of the day was spent of him feeding and you and making sure you were hydrated.

after asking only once you opened up to him about your parents and there expectations. His face of horror was enough to make you realize that what was happening to you wasn’t normal. After you had finished talking it was almost like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

you felt free.

it was towards the evening time and you didn’t want to intrude any longer. “Thank you for helping me, it’s getting pretty late-” “You sound like your leaving?” George cut you off just as you stood up from his bed, looking at you with pleading eyes “Stay? Just for the night?”

“What if a professor sees me when i leave the next morning and where would i sleep?” you question, crossing your arms over your chest. George shrugs his shoulders “It's saturday tomorrow no professors will be checking and you’ll sleep in my bed, with me. I promise not to be to handsy darling”

a cocky smirk grew on his face, making your stomach twist and turn just like all the other times before. You began to stumble on your words “Uh- i- i don’t have anything to wear” you huff. His smirk seems to grow wider, if that was even possible.

“you can wear some of my clothes of course-” a knock cuts him off and he look towards the door “I’ll see who that is and send them away. You get dressed, i won’t peek” George sends you a cheeky wink before going to the door. what a dork.

nonetheless, you go over to his dresser and began to dig through the drawer while he went over to the door. Once he opened it, you couldn’t help but listen in. “Hey Freddie” George says in a sing song voice. Fred Weasley. “Hey, it’s saturday. Potion time”

potion time?- oh for pranks. Was he going to leave you to go make potions? you pick out a burnt orange jumper with a ‘G’ initial and black sweats “Actually i can’t tonight? Maybe tomorrow?” he replies, making Fred’s face twist in confusion before astonishment.

“Oh! You have a girl in there don’t you!” he said quite loudly, making George shush him quickly. You began unbutton your uniform shirt. “Lower your voice, i’m not tryin to get caught because of you” he replies. You place your shirt on a chair next to you and slip the jumper over your head. It was huge on you.

Fred stifles laughter and leans against the doorframe “Who is it” he says, making you freeze for a moment. George raises a brow “and why would i tell you that?” he questions while you push your skirt down your legs, kicking it away with your feet. “Oh because i’m your brother? Your twin brother George”

they were adorable. You pull the sweats on and tie the strings so it was resting snuggly on your hips. “yeah yeah whatever, bye Freddie” George begins to close the door “Aw come on don’t be like that-” he shuts the door on his brother and turns back to look at you.

“Sorry about that-” he froze in place, his eyes taking a mental image of how you looked. He could die at that moment and be content with life. You notice his weird face and looked down at the outfit “I’m sorry, should have i have picked something else?”

he didn’t say anything and just stepped towards you until he stood inches in front of you. He reaches up to grab your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. You also noticed a small smile on his face that was slowly growing into a grin. “George?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

he tilts his head a bit as his golden eyes scan your face “Can i kiss you Y/n?” he asked, catching you off guard. He wanted to kiss you? Did you want to kiss him? He made you laugh, smile, and feel like you were the only witch in the whole wizarding world.

yeah, you definitely wanted to kiss him.

you nodded once and that was enough for him. He dipped down to your height and plants his lips on yours. The calming scent of burning wood invading your nose once again. You respond quickly and kiss him back, feeling his goofy grin, still such a dork.

the kiss was sweet and gentle. George’s heart was beating at a million miles a minute and so was yours. Air, you needed that to live. You both pull away from each other, gripping onto each others clothes. When did that happen? “You are breathtaking darling, literally actually”

you snort at his dorky compliment “Way to kill the mood Weasley” you comment and he chuckles lightly before looking into your eyes “I know today hasn’t been the best for you and this might make it worse, but- i am so in love with you darling. I have been since the first day we met last year”

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, but at the same time you were waiting for it after that kiss. “I love you too George, you giant dork” he smiles brightly as he scoops you up in his arms for a second to throw you on the bed. you gasp as your back connects with sheets.

he climbs in next you “I take back that promise about being handsy, get ready to be my teddy bear darling”. You feel the fuzzy stomach thing again- or whatever it was called. you watch as he shuts off the lamp and grabs the blanket at the bottom of his bed.

“i think i’ll manage” you reply as he places the sheet over your body and his. George turns his body towards you and grabs your waist “Tonight? yes, in the morning i have you all to myself as well and i don’t plan on letting you leave” he smirk was screaming what his intentions were the following morning.

your face must have been super red. “yeah you wish” you mumble, which makes him snicker. He knew the effect he had on you. “Night darling” he says and kisses your temple sweetly. You smile and lay your head on his chest, falling asleep in his embrace.

☼-☪-☼

Taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @sonbelleame @moonpi3 @dracosathenaeum @pxroxide-prinxcesss

☼-☪-☼

Kody: It’s 5am?! oh shit- well anyways peace lmao.

180 notes · View notes